Bent
by Matlock918
Summary: Sage Winters has fought her way through the days following the lethal virus mostly alone, always with bow and bolt by her side. When she happens upon two strangers in the woods, falling victim to one of their anger, she's forced into a situation against her will. As a result, two independent souls collide, crashing together with a staggering force that neither one may survive.
1. Chapter 1

_Katniss_. Katniss Everdeen. That's who I felt like, taking on this bleak, godforsaken world alone.

Long limbed, lithe body, toned muscles, catlike reflexes, with the knack and skill for nailing a target dead center every time. The difference was, before the virus, before the world as we once knew it had been transformed entirely and gone to shit, I shot at wildlife or paper targets – not soulless creatures with decomposing flesh and open mouths with clamping, rotting teeth.

I'd grown up with a bow in my hand. While most of the folks in my neck of the woods preferred a shotgun, my daddy had trained me to use something less subtle. It required patience and steady breathing – an ability to control both the head and the heart when the moment was ripe.

And I was damn good at all of it, had a few state titles to prove it. Didn't mean much now, but it had back then. In a world full of materialistic girls, with upturned noses, I'd known how to live off the land, how to hunt and fish, skin and cook.

I'd killed squirrels and rabbits as an adolescent, then moved on to larger game as time went on. There was a thrill in the chase, something that got my blood pumping like no other. My bones and muscles would alight with excitement as I tracked the unknown, hunted it down with the sole intention of killing. And I was successful more often than not. I didn't know it at the time, but I was grooming myself for something bigger. _Survival_. _The end of the world_. College degrees and rich parents didn't mean shit during an apocalypse.

Nowadays, I killed walkers, or roamers, or biters. Take your pick of the name you preferred. Either one meant one thing: death if you weren't careful, _capable._ And because of daddy, I was more than capable. I flashed a thankful pair of blue eyes towards the sky, smiling at the sun that hit my face, as if the warmth of it was daddy's approval.

I was in uncharted territory, unfamiliar woods. Alone again. It had been that way for about four weeks now. Or maybe it was five. I'd lost track. Ever since I'd decided to leave the Birmingham group, go off on my own. I slept in trees most nights, tying myself to them with the belt that I'd stolen off of one of my first kills. Although muddled with blood and dirt, the leather had been expensive and sturdy – nothing that a few scrub downs in a nearby river hadn't taken care of.

With my quiver resting firmly over my back, chocked full of razor-sharp bolts, I took a few controlled breaths. This hunt needed to be successful. I needed food, nourishment. It had been days since I'd had protein, and the berries in my bag were no longer doing the trick. My body was weak. I could tell it in my sluggish senses, in the heaviness of my limbs. It was prevalent in the way that my brain would tell my body to move and the movement wasn't immediate.

I heard rustling up ahead – a few cracking limbs and the subtle sounds of leaves being disturbed. My ears pricked forward. Listening. Waiting. I jerked my head to the left when I heard it again. The hammering of your heart was oftentimes unnerving in the quiet, but not for me. It meant the familiarity of success, of happening upon my next kill. My eyes landed on a beautiful doe, restless but unassuming as she grazed a nearby pasture. Prickles of awareness tickled my insides. I was ready. My arm lifted, sailing upward through the air towards my bolt. I slid it from my quiver without making a sound, sliding it into place, drawing backwards.

Dinner was an inhaled, steady breath away. _Three. Two…_

Something went whirring past my head, sailing over my shoulder and into the side of the doe. The animal jerked to life, sprinting towards safety. It was too late though, the shot had been clean, perfect. Another bolt went whirring past, striking its target again, just moments prior to the blow to the side of my head. Then darkness. Sweet, heavenly, walker-free, apocalypse-ending darkness.

* * *

"Yeah, but why'd ya go an' knock her skull in?" Movement. Rustling. Sounds came at me through the murkiness of my mind. Cusses and hisses, more rustling and the sounds of flesh scuffling with flesh sounded nearby. Or maybe it was all just a dream. Or maybe I was dead and this was my introduction to the afterlife. "I know yer not smart, but Godammit, Merle."

"Ya push me again, we're gonna have more issues than an outsider with a gash on tha side of 'er head," the Merle character seethed.

"More than a gash. The shots ta tha ribs and tha stomach were uncalled for," the other pointed out. Because I couldn't see, I strained to hear.

"Her brain's not bashed in. Have a look at 'er. She'll be fine. Sure was fun," he noted, releasing a satisfied chuckle. The evilness it emanated made my insides boil. The bastard was gloating. If I could see, I'd put a bolt right between the fucker's eyes. "I'd do it again too." This time, the voice was closer, like it was coming at me from directly above.

I shifted all of my efforts on regaining my sight. I needed to know what I was dealing with. Or, better yet, _who_ I was dealing with. I might've been born poor and sentenced to a life of land and trailer, but I'd always been beautiful. I'd been gifted that lucky strand of DNA by my mother. Money didn't always equal beauty, contrary to what many believed _before_. Even with dirt under my nails, I'd managed to turn heads. Even ones that I didn't want - like this Merle character. In this sadistic world, where people killed and took without thought, I had to worry about more than limping, dead flesh.

"Yer an idiot. Why doncha just think? Fer once?" This voice was heated, angry at the attacker. _My_ attacker.

Heavy hands gripped my side, shifting my world forward then back, over-and-over in quick succession, before pressing me firmly onto my back. The pain was so great I thought it'd never end. I blinked my eyes again, the men becoming hazy blurs in front of me. "Pretty though, ain't she?"

"Fucking hopeless." This guy, much smaller than the other, lurched towards _Merle_ as he said the words. His arms flared angrily out to his sides, something big – triangular - in one of his hands.

"Oh, stop being a pussy and grab you a handful." My body rocked again, the contents of the Earth digging into my back. The action was, again, painful. Beyond painful. My whole body ached. And my head…Good God, my head.

"Fuck off, Merle." He gave a gesture towards his companion, one that I assumed went hand-in-hand with the words he'd said.

"Where ya headed?"

"To get the deer." And then he was gone. The more rational of the two disappeared with another cuss and a huff.

Tightness bared down over my breast, like a vice clamping down over the full mound. The pain was searing, excruciating – even more so with my recent injuries. Rough hands clawed over both breasts, scratching the soft skin there. This was not a dream, the memory of the blow to the head from before surfacing. I tried moving my hands, but I couldn't. Maybe it was the hunger, maybe it was the pain, but my body wouldn't perform like I wanted it to. A moan that I was unable to stifle permeated the quiet.

"Yeah, squirm a little. I like it when my women fight."

And fight I did - against the darkness, and the pain, and the assault. I refused to go down this way, at the hands of a human. I'd fought my way through months and months of blood and guts and hunger. No way in hell I was letting this happen.

His chuckle hit me in the way of hot breath landing thickly on my face. It was worse than a hot July day in the South. He was close. "Feisty," he murmured as his hand began to snake its way down my shirt. "Daryl, come have a look," he called. "I'd say a solid 'C', maybe a 'D' cup."

"Back up, right now." Another voice, this one different than the last two. Calm. Controlled. Authoritative. I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cock. "Get your hands out of the woman's shirt. Do it. Now."

If saviors existed, this man was surely one. At least in the moment. He'd probably kill me later. My head didn't like the thought, the unease that it brought only adding to my pain.

The greedy hands left my breasts, my body jerking reflexively, attempting escape that wouldn't happen. Slowly, my vision returned, the blurry forms becoming crisp images. Too crisp. I squinted beneath the piercing brightness.

"Daryl, tell 'im I wasn't doin' nothin'. Talk some sense into 'im, will ya?"

"What's he doing out here anyway? His orders were to stay in the prison." He barked the words, aiming them somewhere beyond me. Sharp eyes narrowed, the tanned, crinkled skin around them accentuating his frustration. He'd addressed Merle like he despised him. His words towards the other man in the equation, very different. They sounded disappointed, like he'd expected better.

"Sorry, Rick. We jus' came ta hunt. That's all. We came up on tha deer and she was there. We didn't-He…"

The response came through heavy breathing, gaining volume as he neared. A loud thump came from the ground nearby. _The doe._ The animal's assassin came into view, his back to me as he faced the one asking all the questions. He wore a plaid collared shirt, the sleeves intentionally removed from the garment. I knew because all of my button-ups had met the same fate. The South was too damned hot this time of year for sleeves. His muscles flexed, drawing my eyes to the crossbow that hung by his side. He'd been the shooter, the shit who'd stolen my dinner. We'd have words if I ever got out of this mess.

"Awe, fuck. What he's tryna say is that tha bitch was hopin' ta take our dinner fer herself. I did it fer the camp."

I had news for him. The deer had been mine. All mine.

I began trying to piece things together, put names with faces thinking that it might come in handy later on. _Merle, Rick and…_ I stared at the back of the man whose name my mind couldn't recall. I hadn't heard it, had I?

"Daryl?" curly-brown-hair questioned the guy with the crossbow.

Mystery solved. I _had_ heard it…I think. Things were just hard to process given my current state.

Silence. Then a whisper as the cop stepped forward. "I thought I told you to keep him in line. Not only did you let him leave the prison, now he's beaten up an outsider. What if she has people nearby? Heavily. Armed. People?" he said slowly, driving his point home.

"Ya can't keep 'em locked up, Rick."

"Yeah. I can." Rick turned his sights towards my attacker, closing the space between them in two quick strides, driving the butt of his gun into the side of the burly one's head. Merle's hands flew upwards, covering his temple, his lips spewing cusswords that would've made a sailor proud. "I'll handle Merle. You carry the girl."

"What?"

"You heard me," Rick said, stepping towards Daryl before doubling back. The weapon hung limply at Daryl's side, a dejected, almost angry hunch to his form. "I'll take Merle. You take the girl," Rick repeated, this time more slowly, doing sharp, exaggerated motions as he said the words. He motioned between himself and Merle, then towards Mr. Crossbow and me. _Daryl,_ my mind corrected.

"We're bringin' her back?" He was confused by the leader's plan, probably in complete disagreement too. _The venison stealing, fucker_.

"Until we figure out what to do with her, yes," Rick confirmed, jerking his head up and down. He pulled some rope from his back pocket, taking his time to tie my attacker's hands behind his back. Despite my pain, I smiled. I'd always loved when an asshole got the karma he deserved. Rick forced a gun between his shoulder blades, ordering him to his feet.

"What about the deer?"

"We'll send someone back for it," Rick called, already leading Merle in the opposite direction.

"And if the walkers get it?" Daryl yelled, anger chasing after their retreating forms.

"We'll kill another."

The simple answer came without a backward glance, something that my crossbow-wielding companion didn't appreciate. His heavy sigh cut into the silence, as he turned slowly towards me. With narrowed eyes and tight facial features, he shot something resembling anger in my direction. His hair was messy, like he'd found a dull pair of scissors and allowed a blind man to create the style. It was an odd pairing of long and short, the longer strands framing his hardened face, the features hampered by dirt and grime.

It suited him, I thought. My mind began to process him in single words: _angry, hard, brutal, strong, capable._ I sucked in a sharp breath, not appreciating the last adjective my mind had used. Capable was _me_. It was _my_ term. It was a positive one, not used for people who let other's beat up on an unassuming woman. I struck it from my description of him, replacing it with _coward._

He came towards me, his footsteps heavy like his crossbow and firm like his face. My heartbeat wracked my eardrums, the fear palpable. Every cell in my body was screaming for me to find some guts, to forget about the pain, and fight for my escape. I harnessed what little strength I had, kicking desperately at the forest floor, scattering leaves and dirt in the process, doing very little to place distance between myself and the remaining stranger.

"Not gonna hurt ya," he murmured, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

 _Yeah right._

"I mean it… _woman._ " When he neared my side, he stooped down, one knee shoved hard into the dirt for balance, the other bent towards his chest with a limp arm resting over it. His eyes were no longer slits, affording me the view of their bright blue orbs, orbs that were very similar to my own. The brilliance of the color surprised me, like he'd been gifted them by accident. Black soul's didn't deserve that kind of beauty.

I flinched, reeling away from his outstretched hand. He frowned, the action causing the stubble on his face to move along with it. "Lemme see. Please," he added at the last moment. His voice was strangely calm, shockingly soothing. Knowing that my efforts would simply fall short, I stopped further protest and mentally accepted my fate. When he was convinced my episode was finished, he reached his hesitant hand down towards my midsection.

Rough fingers touched exposed skin, just above my jeans and below the white tank top that I wore. I jerked beneath the contact. He paused again, his eyes flickering briefly to my face before returning to my stomach. He peeled the thin fabric upwards, exposing skin and fears the entire way. With each new inch of exposed skin, his piercing eyes busied themselves scanning, searching. He'd lifted my tank top up above my ribs, hooking the fabric over the swell of my breasts, one of his hands hovering just above the one closest to him. I clamped my eyes closed, certain that I was about to experience assault number two.

"Not gonna touch ya," he mumbled, his gravelly tone prying my eyes back open. "Not like that." His face soured like he didn't like the words, or the thought, or both. "Just tryna to figure out tha damage." At that, his fingers slid over my ribcage, tracing the bones from the front until he no longer could, the ground beneath me stopping his progress. I winced. His eyes pinned to mine, his lips pulled into a thin line. "This is gonna hurt." Seconds ticked by, like he was giving me time to prepare, before his hand put pressure over my left side.

The pain was overbearing, but I knew if I screamed, there was the potential to distract walkers. Gritting my teeth, fighting off tears, I writhed beneath his assessment.

"I think yer rib's broken. One of 'em, possibly two." That much I'd pretty much figured. What I didn't understand was that the man looked almost apologetic about it. Hadn't he stood by as my attacker had done what he'd done? "I'm gonna have ta carry ya. Okay with that?"

No, I wasn't. I wasn't altogether comfortable with touching of any kind, especially since I'd just been beaten by someone from his group. I didn't like to depend on people either. My whole life had been spent grooming me to do otherwise. And him picking me up would leave us both vulnerable. I couldn't let that happen.

"I'll walk," I ground out, my voice shaky and uncertain. His eyes narrowed again, both cheeks and his pointed chin creating a trifecta of confusion and frustration and, again, anger. Or maybe he just had an angry face. I didn't care enough to linger on the thought. I couldn't.

"Suit yourself," he grumbled, helping me to my feet.

I pulled the tank top back down, taking my time to hook the buttons on my flannel over shirt. It had been stupid of me to leave it unbuttoned in the first place. My hunger had hampered my brain. He studied me, like he was surmising my intentions, preparing for an inevitable escape. I wanted to, wished like hell I was able. Because I liked being on my own. I felt more capable on my own. There was less to worry about, not much plan-making and more doing. You got in a jam? You fought your way out. No worrying about someone to save or losing another in a world where death had become so common.

He bent low, plucking my quiver from the ground, slinging it over his free shoulder. Some of the bolts bent at unnatural angles, broken beyond repair. My heart bled at the sight. Those weren't easy to come by. I'd raided more buildings than I could count to find the ones that I had, the remaining dozen or so tied to a tree about a half-mile from where we were. I'd have to come back for my knapsack later. There were things in there too dear to me to leave behind.

He picked up my bow and handed it to me, a single bolt coming with it. "Ya shoot if ya need to?"

It was a question, not a command. "I think so," I said nodding, second-guessing myself when another pain tore through me, clawing its way from my midsection out to my extremities.

"This way." His head jerked in the direction that the other two men had went. I hobbled towards him, grimacing beneath the pain that each movement brought. With the stealth of a cat, he was by my side in seconds, his arm instructing my free one around his neck. His other arm grabbed at my hip, pulling me firmly into his side.

"You'll compromise us both," I argued.

"If we see a walker, you'll be on yer own."

That shut me up, quickly. I focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other - not what would happen after we reached our destination, not that I was heading towards, not away from, my attacker. Because really, forward progress - another hour, another day - was all that the living could hope for in this shitty world.


	2. Chapter 2

It was all a blur - the struggle and energy that it'd taken to travel back to our destination. We'd happened upon a few walkers along the way, but nothing that Daryl hadn't taken out with ease. Really, we'd gotten lucky. Surprising since luck never seemed interested in sticking by my side. There had always been someone more deserving.

Our destination? A building surrounded by fences with barbed wire curled into perfect circles at the top. More chain-linked fence on the other side of it, separated by gravel. The building was large, gray, made up entirely of cinderblocks. It looked like a prison, a detail I thought I remembered from a conversation that had passed between Rick and Daryl.

Behind closed, heavy eyelids, my mind struggled to remember more, but I simply couldn't. My brain felt bogged down, blurry and scattered beneath some sedative. I knew there was danger, was aware of looming trouble, but a sheet of injected calm blurred the edges between fear and not caring.

"What's he plan on doin' with her?"

 _Daryl._ I recalled his strength, his ability to juggle our body weight and weapons, his calm when he'd needed to use his crossbow, shuffling me out of the way. He'd lied about me being on my own if we saw walkers. I'd been too weak from hunger and too pained by my beaten insides to be much help. He'd done the heavy lifting, never seeming winded. Picking me up, tucking me back into his side after each kill.

I hated it. Relying on him. Anyone besides myself, really. We no longer lived in a world where softness was rewarded.

In my last group, the women had been expected to cook and organize and clean, to mend wounds and worry over the lost, the dead. A lot of them had died too, unable to defend themselves when their men weren't there creating a protective barrier between the dead and the living. It was an antiquated way of thinking, something I'd never bought into. They'd scowl, whispering to each behind cupped hands, as I returned from a hunt, dinner in tow. Never did I receive a thanks for the food or the danger I'd put myself in to get it. I was a burden. I could see it on their faces. I had never fit in, knew that I'd leave at some point from day one.

"I don't know."

This voice came from beside me. It seemed genuine, sincere, _truthful._ I felt weight on whatever it was that I was laying on, an indention in a…mattress? Surely not. There wasn't enough comfort for it to be. Besides, those types of luxuries were long gone. Or so I'd thought.

I was losing it.

"What 'bout Merle?"

It was the oddest of things, my protector showing concern over my attacker. He'd witnessed my pain and then saved me afterwards. He _had_ saved me, of that I had little doubt. Regardless of his orders from Rick, he could've left me for dead, a distraction for the walkers that would ensure his safety - could've blamed my death on a herd when asked. But he hadn't done any of those things.

I shifted uncomfortably, not appreciating my vulnerability...or my thoughts. My effort created minimal movement, but it had summoned a groan that flew past my lips. The indention disappeared, followed by silence.

"Not here," the voice I didn't recognize instructed. "Rick asked that I check on her, try and assess the damage. We've been asked to a meeting to discuss…" I wasn't sure if I'd blacked out or the sentence just hadn't been completed.

When Daryl spoke, I realized that it'd been the latter. "Alright. I'll head that way now. Tell 'em you'll be up shortly."

I heard shoes shuffle across the floor. "Daryl?" The shuffling stopped. "You did the right thing, listening to Rick…saving her…bringing her here." There was a long pause, hands making their way over to my ribs, resting there. "There's too much killing already. No sense in murdering the living when the dead are already doing it."

"Yeah." A mumble, so soft I had to strain to hear, and then he was gone.

I knew it with a certainty that I shouldn't possess, not given my current state. Maybe it was my body's senses reawakening. I'd always had a keen sense of danger, was able to sort through situations and label them as either harmless or harmful. This was a new stranger, someone who hadn't killed walkers for me. The idea brought on another round of worry.

"Easy now," he whispered. His hands moved deftly over my ribs, pushing here and there, sighing at different intervals. My world went from dark to light in a hurry. Like a light switch, my eyes flipped open, staring up into an aging man's furrowed brows. I was pretty certain I'd tripped, lost my mind and woken up to Santa. A few years ago, he'd have made the local mall a hell of a lot of money.

"I can't," I mumbled, struggling to come to terms with my circumstances, to understand that I was alone without actually being alone. Strangely enough, being surrounded by people that I didn't know, didn't trust, scared me worse than lonely nights plagued by the threat of walkers. "I won't," I continued.

"Stop moving, child," he soothed, both hands falling flat on my stomach. They stayed that way, pressing me flat without applying pressure. "You're handcuffed and badly bruised. Struggling will make it worse."

"Not broken?" I jumped, startled by the sound of my own voice. His mouth formed into something of a smile, the lips framed by so much white hair it was hard to tell. "I thought…"

He nodded. "Yeah, Daryl did too, but I just think they're badly bruised. We'll keep you comfortable for a while, but pain meds are hard to come by."

"Don't waist them on me," I mumbled, hating myself for saying it the moment I did. Was I a complete idiot? The pain meds were the only thing keeping me from tears, from sanity. "What I meant was-"

"Try not to talk." He chuckled, spiderlike wrinkles creasing away from his tired eyes. "I expect you'll be okay in a week or so."

A week or so? I didn't want to be here that long. I was headed towards Atlanta, making my way there one day at a time. The CDC seemed like my best option. I'd tried convincing the others of this before leaving, something they were non-receptive of. They'd been too afraid to move, too cowardly to leave the confines of their shoddy camp. It was another reason I'd left. I had no desire to sit on my hands, awaiting attack – _death._ I had an intuition that movement was best, lowered your odds of being killed.

Maybe my intuition was shit, maybe it wasn't, but I'd rather follow it than ignore it. Death seemed inevitable, but I had no desire for regret to consume me in my final moments, to lye dying, thinking that maybe I should've listened to myself, done this instead of that.

"I'm going to go now. Get some rest. I'll be back to check on you later."

A protest stilled on my lips. Where there was once stifling fear of being in the presence of another stranger, there was now more fear of being alone. What if Merle returned with no Rick or Daryl or this guy? What if he had his way with me while I was handcuffed to this bed? God, what had I gotten myself into?

He must've sensed my unease. "You'll be fine. No one's going to harm you. You'll get better and then either stay or go."

With that, he turned and walked out of the cell, my mind confirming the suspicion from before: he'd brought me to a prison. Something about that fact seemed ironic. You spent your whole life trying to stay away from places like this, and then an apocalypse happens and it becomes a sought after, highly advantageous situation.

Being that I was handcuffed to the bunk – in an _actual_ prison inside of an emotional one - I settled onto the thin plastic that served as a mattress. Maybe I _should_ get some rest. If I died during slumber, who cared? Maybe that was the easiest way, falling asleep, never to wake again. _Before_ , I'd never given much consideration to death. I was too young, had too much life left in front of me. In the present, when death stared you in the face multiple times every day, you thought about it a lot. Especially when you were alone.

My thoughts drifted to my father and what I'd had to do. As quickly as I'd conjured the demons, I chased them back into the corner of my mind. This wasn't the time or the place to be reliving the ghosts of my past. If I escaped, and the urge was still there – to remember and relive – I'd do it out there, in the woods, all alone. But not a moment before.

My eyes shut and sleep followed shortly after, caving in on me with a ferocity that it hadn't in some time.

* * *

I awoke some time later, the cell shrouded in darkness, save a small lantern on the desk emanating the tiniest ray of dull light. Two figures stood facing one another in the opening, whispering, looking towards me then back at each other. "You can't stay in here all night. Let me watch over her." This voice was feminine, filled with concerned. Her hand came up to the other's chest, resting softly there. The silhouette stiffened, uncomfortable beneath the contact.

"It's what Rick wants, so it's what I'm gonna do." The familiar drawl cut into the silence. He backed away from her touch, the outstretched hand lingering awkwardly in the space between them, palm remaining flat, like she was hoping he'd change his mind.

"You're tired. You can't keep this up," she pleaded, her hand finally dropping to her side. He grunted, but didn't respond. "So what, you're going to keep an eye on her _and_ your brother?"

"No, Rick's got Merle in a different cell block, Glenn on guard. My responsibility is ta her."

 _Merle was Daryl's brother?_ The shock pierced through me uncomfortably, a sharp intake of breath making my presence known. They both turned towards me, the woman remaining in the framework of the opening, Daryl approaching my side.

"Ya awake?" he asked, dropping down to eye level. There was a sigh from behind us. _The woman_. I struggled to fit pieces into spaces that they didn't seem to fit. "Okay?" he continued.

"Daryl-"

"Carol, tha decision's been made. Ya best be leavin'. I've got work ta do," he explained, never turning back towards her. She left in a huff, scuffling her feet angrily across the concrete until I could no longer hear them.

I realized that the work he'd referenced was me, the word scraping over my pride. If he'd just let me leave, uncuff and release me, I'd be out of their hair. I had half a mind to tell him just that, but the words stayed lodged in my throat beneath his assessment.

He'd moved the lantern from the desk, hanging it above our heads. What he was checking for, I wasn't sure, but his eyes drifted over my face as the silence engulfed me. He was so close I could hear both of our breathing. It was weird. And uncomfortable. His hand lifted up to my face, fingers cupping my chin as he moved my face in his direction. His fingers slid over a patch of skin along my hairline – the exact place that Merle had nailed me. Well, one of them. I winced.

"I asked if ya were okay," he repeated, his gravelly voice deeper than I remembered it being in the forest.

"I'm handcuffed to a fucking bed," I pointed out, my mouth fumbling through more syllables than it had in a month. You didn't talk much when you were on your own, or beaten and bruised. "What do you think?"

He eyeballed me, his lips quirking into something just shy of a grin. A half-smirk and a controlled chuckle to match it. "Just a precaution." He glanced at them anyway, his hand leaving my face to fumble with each of my wrists.

"Precaution my ass," I retorted, finding the fire inside that had so often gotten me into trouble in my past. I was fighting off something else too, something unfamiliar. Emotions had never been my strong suit _before._ Funny that somewhere along the way, I had begun to compartmentalize my life. There was the past-life, pre-walkers and there was the here and now – two completely different filing cabinets in my brain, each one with their own set of scary, painful memories. "You're _brother_ beat me up out there. I got a feeling I couldn't defend myself from you if I tried."

"Damn straight." Another smirk. Another chuckle. And a glimmer in his eyes that somehow made its way to me through the darkness. "Somethin' you shouldn't be forgettin' anytime soon."

"If I had my bow and arrow, none of you'd stand a chance." I ignored the voice inside reminding me of his skillset with a crossbow, something that had been very apparent when he was saving my ass. "I'd stick an arrow right between each one of your eyes." I realized my misstep the moment the words left my lips, that I'd all but signed my death warrant. Not that I wanted to stay here after I healed, but I shouldn't be threatening hostility when my life was still in their hands.

"Like ya took care of tha walkers on tha way here?"

He was taunting me, challenging my ability. "Listen here, you venison stealing shit…" I could feel my anger climbing, the heat that often accompanied it flashing through my veins and over my skin. "I let you take care of those walkers. No need to overexert myself, not when you had puffed out your chest and put on your manly badass cape."

He ducked his head out from beneath the bunk, pulling away from me. I was glad for the distance. Something about his close proximity had me feeling more than a little off center.

"Shoulda left ya in tha woods," he mumbled, turning to remove a set of folded blankets from the desk. He moved to the corner of the room, organizing the blankets into the best make-shift pallet that the space would afford before propping himself up between metal bars and cinderblock.

"You afraid I'm going to escape?" I asked, prodding him, subconsciously hoping to lull him into another debate. I realized in that moment, that I was actually afraid of my own thoughts. Months of being alone, thinking only of myself and of survival, and now memories…fucking painful memories flooding into my brain, bringing on the guilt, the what-ifs. Banter with him distracted me from it all.

He snorted. "Sure as hell make my life easier if ya did." He crossed his arms over his chest.

 _Fucking asshole._ "All you have to do is uncuff me and I'll be gone. Please, Daryl."

His body stiffened, like he hadn't appreciated his name on my lips. It was a similar reaction to the one he'd had before with Carol. The one who'd touched him, had spoken to him like they were more than just familiar. Girlfriend? Wife, maybe? I stilled my thoughts. What did it matter? Why had I stepped a single toe onto the unfamiliar, undesirable path?

"Rick says yer stayin'. If ya ain't got nothin' worth talkin' about, then close yer lips."

"Fuck you," I spat, pulling unsuccessfully against the cuffs, hating the turn that my mind had taken moments before.

"Ya got a dirty mouth, woman."

"No worse than yours."

"Point taken. Get some sleep."

I sulked, settling into an uncomfortable position. The restraints had left me no other choice. I hated this. Hated the unknown, my inability to control the situation, my inability to choose. I hated the man in the corner with the snarky comments and the probing eyes, with the fowl mouth and the lethal words. With the confusingly soft touch.

It was a slow spiral into unconsciousness, my mind hampered with thoughts of the unwanted company in the corner and my undecided future. Just prior to sleep, in that span of time when reality intermingles with dream and you're not sure what's real and what's not, words drifted to me through the dark. _'Ya really think my cape is badass?'_


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope everyone is enjoying. And I know that my profile says that my pride doesn't need reviews. But my heart does. She told me so. But I don't know whether it's the truth. She's lied to me before. But seriously, pretty please with an added chapter on top, let me know what you think?**

 **Much love and appreciation. JWM**

* * *

There was a time _before_ when I slept soundly through the night, always. Even after the outbreak, when I still slept in my own bed, under my own roof, I'd been able to string together four and five hours of sleep at a time. We'd alternate taking watch – my dad and me - both of us feeling safe and secure because of our capabilities. It was a level of trust, built because we were blood, because of time, years upon years of hunting together in the woods. Because of our unshakeable bond, we both placed the safety of the other ahead of our own.

And then it happened. One night, one perimeter search in which he didn't return. Not right away, anyhow.

I'd taken the first watch to let him sleep, staying out two hours longer than our normal, agreed upon shift. Lately, he'd seemed so tired. It had left me feeling guilty, like maybe he was carrying the heavier burden, doing most of the scavenging for us. He'd lost weight, his clothes no longer fitting him the way they had _before._ He'd always been lean, broad shouldered and thick-boned, the type of man you'd expect to see on the front of a package of Brawny paper towels. It was where I got my lean muscle, something I'd always been proud of. I didn't care that my thighs skimmed each other in the middle. I was strong. To me, that was worth a hell of a lot more than a pair of size four jeans.

During my watch, I'd made a decision that I would insist on going with him next time. It wasn't so much that I hadn't offered in the past, he'd just mostly refused. And because I always wanted to make him happy, I relented. Sure, there'd been times I'd pressed the subject, badgered him until he could no longer say no. But those were smaller outings, shorter runs – runs in which he knew there was next to no danger. It bothered me. If I could scan the perimeter for four hours at night, I could handle myself on a raid.

He wanted to protect me. I understood that. But I couldn't continue letting him shoulder more than me. Fifty-fifty, from here on out. He'd disagree, try to talk me down off of my soap box, but I'd already planned on how to stand my ground.

He was my dad. He held authority. But these were different times, a different world. If he still disagreed, I would play my trump card: If something were to happen to him, I'd need to know how to survive on my own. I'd much rather learn now, with him still here, than to have to figure it out on my own if, God forbid, something ever happened to him.

He was drinking coffee when I returned, plan firmly intact. His scowl met me from across the room. I tried ignoring it, securing the locks on the door and the wood we'd nailed over the windows to bide myself some time. We had to replace both every few days. Stray walkers would find their way to our house, trying to force their way in. We'd strategically pick them off, burning their bodies in the back yard before burying them afterwards.

"Two hours, Sage. Two whole hours." His face turned red beneath his anger, beneath his worry. The shaggy beard surrounding his mouth shifted downward as his lips folded into a frown. "This isn't fun in the forest anymore. This is serious. _Dangerous!_ Every minute, every second out there…Sage…It's life or death."

The last part was a breathless plea. His voice held the pain of any father who loved their child more than life itself. It brought on a mountain of guilt, which landed squarely on my plotting, curfew-breaking shoulders. Lest I remind myself that this wasn't me returning from a date? He wasn't worried about some heavy-handed punk, sullying his daughter. He was worried about my death.

No matter the level of my guilt, it didn't change things. I'd keep my curfew to ease his mind, but I was going on the next run.

"Dad, I was fine," I reasoned, walking over to the microwave, opening the door to find the coffee that I knew he'd saved for me. It would be cold by now, even with the microwave holding in some of the heat, but worth it. "I'm always fine," I added with a sigh, freeing my hair of the tight French braid I'd secured before leaving. The brunette strands fell down my back, hitting just beneath my shoulders. The muscles on my scalp appreciated the freedom.

"There's a reason for the timeline. We set it. We live by it. It's the only way to ensure that the other isn't..." his voice trailed off.

 _Dead._ That's what he'd meant to say but didn't. He was right of course.

I sighed, sorting through the cabinets, hoping that we hadn't used the last of the powdered creamer. Coffee and creamer were items I considered a vice. Dad too. The positive to that being that both were fairly easy to come by. Most people weren't drawn directly to the Folgers, in search of, instead, the canned goods or other non-perishables. There was also the added fact that most people didn't know how to make coffee without power. We did, and the payoff in the post-apocalyptic world was, in my opinion, worth its weight in gold.

"I know, Dad. Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I vowed. I wasn't lying. I didn't want him to worry. He'd had something just shy of a heart attack about ten years ago. Mom and I had babied him ever since. He hated every minute of it, but it never stopped us. Even on her death bed, weak and frail, working hard for every breath, she'd made me promise to oversee his diet. I didn't have to fuss over his exercise. He got enough of that out in the woods.

"Sage, look at me." He moved towards me, closing space and creating more guilt. His steps fell heavy over the linoleum. "Please." I did as requested, the heaviness of my remorse leaving me with little other choice. I sat my untouched coffee down onto the countertop before doing so. "You're all I have left in this world. You understand?"

I nodded, trying hard not to dwell on mom's passing three years prior. _Fucking cancer._ At least she hadn't had to live through the mess the world had become. A silver lining to an otherwise messed up situation.

I fought through the thought that always presented itself when thinking of my mother and her passing and the apocalypse that followed a few years later: _It's one less person that I had to worry about._ It was an awful thing to think. I knew that. But I did anyhow…and often.

"I need you to promise me." His hands found my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze, conjuring my head up towards his.

I gave a resigned sigh. "Sure, yeah…Of course, Dad."

"Good girl." He smiled, pulling me into one of his signature bear hugs, the kind that embarrassed you on the first day of school. Only problem was, Dad hadn't stopped them after Kindergarten. They'd continued right on up until middle school, when I'd been forced to ask him to stop. Secretly, I loved them. But the kids at school had begun making snide remarks, saying things that made me want to use my fists as weapons. And considering we had a strict, household policies against such force, I knew I had to take action. "I love you, Sage."

"Love you too, Dad." I smiled, turning back towards my coffee to take a sip. I hated the grounds, wishing for the _nth_ time that I could throw the appropriate items into the coffeepot and walk away, letting it percolate on its own and come back to a ground-free cup o' Joe. I wondered if there'd ever be a time…in the future…when things would resemble some sort of normal. Because it was both a pipe dream and highly unlikely to happen, I let the thought quickly fizz out.

"See you in _four_ hours." He stressed the four hours part, subtly revisiting the fact that I'd missed it by two.

"Be careful," I said, the words coming out on auto-pilot.

"I'll be fine, Sage. I'm always fine," he said, his word mirroring mine from before. It was an unplanned routine, words we'd started saying without intending to. And we'd always return, one shift after the other, night after night. It was an easy routine to fall into. "Lock the door behind me."

The door slammed closed right after, and then he was gone. Off to begin his watch, to keep us safe. To keep _me_ safe.

That was the last time I saw him alive.

* * *

I awoke from slumber, thrashing wildly over the bed, tugging desperately against the handcuffs. Sweat dampened my hairline, the thin tank top falling victim to the perspiration too. It was still dark outside, the cell block quiet.

People were sleeping. Or at least trying to. Everyone except for Daryl. He was by me, hunkering above me before my eyes had had a chance to open. Hovering and making demands. "You'll wake up the whole cell block," he admonished. Although his words were harsh, his voice didn't seem too worried about it actually happening. "Have a bad dream or somethin'?"

I ignored his question, instead focusing on his movement. His body stretched above mine, his chest at eye level as he reached towards the lantern. I realized what he meant to do and what the light would expose when he did. Fear caught fire within. "Please don't," I whispered, not wanting him to see the horror I knew to be plastered on my face. If he saw it, he'd think I was weak. I couldn't allow that to happen.

I'd been dealing with the nightmares since his death. I knew the outcome, the fear and shame and anguish mixing together, forming a strong, hard-to-stomach, nauseating cocktail that I tried to avoid. Sometimes the events in my dreams followed what had happened in real life exactly. Other times they were a skewed, fucked-up version of it. "Did I say anything? Aloud, I mean." I hated the hesitation in my voice, the shakiness too, and the lump that had formed over the possibility of having someone else witness it.

"I think ya told me ya loved me."

I couldn't expect him to understand what had just happened to me. I _didn't_. But because he'd made a joke out of something that was very personal – entirely too personal to even be on his radar at this point – my anger flared again. "Are you always an asshole or is that just a mask you're wearing specifically for me?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he ignored my previous request, leaning forward to turn on the lantern. He readjusted the brightness to a minimal setting. His gaze went up to my wrists, his eyes narrowing harshly upon assessment. "Yer tearin' yer skin ta shreds."

Then he went and traced the shreds he was referencing. Softly, like the tips of his fingers held some sort of magic that would heal the skin beneath. They didn't, merely caused me to cuss the restraints more vehemently.

This wasn't fair. Nothing about it. He, and everyone else in this camp, were at an unfair advantage. I guess that was part of being a prisoner though. Ironic again that I was in an _actual_ prison.

The pain emanating from my wrists, shot down my arms, reminding me of the extreme discomfort in my shoulders too. I needed to walk, to breathe fresh air. I'd never been an inside person. Restlessness always set in for me pretty quickly. "You could always take the cuffs off," I suggested, flashing him my best syrupy sweet smile, the action intentionally sarcastic and over the top.

"Ya think I'm some backwoods hick, don't ya?" His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching a spot there. For most people, it was a nervous reaction. I wasn't so certain that Daryl had nervous reactions. He seemed to move with purpose. To s _peak_ with purpose. Even with his southern drawl, he didn't sound stupid. Not to me anyway.

"Not any more than I am," I said without thinking. _Shit._ All of the things you normally did with your body to divert someone's attention away from the foot you'd just stuck in your mouth, I couldn't do. Instead, I was splayed flat on the mattress before him, arms bound uncomfortably above my head, having to meet and surmise his reactions and facial expressions straight-on.

He tilted his head to the side, silently contemplating my words. He made some sort of guttural sound, another smirk forming over his lips. "Don't seem like no hick ta me."

"Maybe hick is a bit of an exaggeration," I agreed, squirming again.

"I said stop. Don't cha know how ta take direction?"

"It's not so much that I don't know how to take direction, it's more about not wanting to," I pointed out, shooting him a flattened smile.

"And ta think, I was almost considerin' unlockin' tha cuffs."

The bastard was enjoying this torture, this torment. I was helpless and he's was totally using it to his advantage. My brow couldn't possibly furrow any deeper. "Please." Good God, I'd just resorted to begging.

"Daryl? Everything okay?"

 _Carol again._

He tensed, like he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but his face gave away nothing. Neither did his voice. "Everything's fine, Carol."

I didn't appreciate her tone, the way she sounded concerned about him being in the same room with me. Like I'd rip him to pieces if I had the chance. It was similar to the way that the others spoke of me before I'd defected. Similar too to the way that my peers had done back _before._ He was a man, capable of taking care of himself.

I sighed, relieving my agitation by bouncing my heels up and down, the bed creaking along with the act. I'd used that term for him again. I hated that I had. Because using it, equated him to me somehow. And I wasn't ready for that. "Jesus Christ," I murmured, surprised at having heard the thought aloud.

"Go back ta bed," he instructed, throwing the words over his shoulder. I could barely see her on the other side of Daryl, but I didn't miss the clamped fists that hung by her sides. "I don't need no help."

"Exactly what I was thinking," I whispered, the minute she turned away. "What's the deal with her anyway?" Again, more talking without thinking. I blamed it on the circumstances, lingering pain meds and the uncertainties of my future.

"You got a name?"

"You always answer questions with a completely unrelated question?"

"You always this frustrating?" he ground out.

"Yes." It was a knee-jerk response. A _truthful_ knee-jerk response. Every man I'd ever dated had told me so. I always thought that their opinions had more to do with the fact that I never let them in my pants, but maybe there was more to it than that.

He laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full blown laugh, resting back on his heels. His hands went to his thighs, long fingers spreading out over the worn denim. There were tears at the knees, slender white bands of fabric stretching taught over the exposed knee bones. "We're close. She looks out fer me."

"How much do you know about women?"

He was very visibly offended by my innocent question. It _had_ been innocent. A direct reflection of the blinders that he wore where Carol was concerned. Even in a foreign environment, in a cell of a jail, hands handcuffed uncomfortably above my head, I could tell she held some sort of affection for him that stemmed beyond friendship.

"I know things, have done things, that'd make ya blush."

He leaned forward, almost challenging me to pry. I wasn't sure if I believed him, thinking for some reason that maybe his confidence was a façade. Or hell, maybe it wasn't. Maybe he'd screwed women left and right before the virus. _Maybe_ he'd screwed a hell of a lot more since. I could, I guess on some level, understand the allure. The whole bad boy, dirty-slash-grimy, I-shoot-deer-and-keep-you-fed, confusing, probing eye thing that he had going for him could appeal to some women I supposed. Especially when the pickings were slim. Especially when his skin was so warm.

I slammed the door on my thoughts, the vision that they had conjured didn't sit comfortably with me. I really was losing it.

"Just make sure that whatever's going on between the two of you doesn't bleed over into anything related to me," I spat, rattling my hands again to prove a point, metal clanking against metal. "I'd like to live. Got it?"

"How 'bout ya tell me what you were doin' in the woods… _alone_?"

"Wasn't that obvious?" I questioned, eyes narrowing, falling way short of his eye-narrowing tactics. It was something I'd never challenge him in. The win would be a landslide and I didn't like to lose.

"If it was, would I be askin'?"

"I was hunting. Trying to find something to put in my belly." The reference to the body part made his eyes shift there. Every time he looked at me, dissected me with those intense eyes, I felt something stir uncomfortably inside me. I didn't like it now any more than I did the first time. "I think I'm going to sleep now, Daryl. You should too."

"Not the one who had tha fuckin' dream," he pointed out.

The reaction was far more severe than my previous comment had called for. I pretended not to take offense. I also pretended that he hadn't just brought up the elephant in the room. "Next time I have a dream, don't come check on me, okay? Leave me be. I'll be fine. I'm always fine," I added, cringing beneath the phrase that held so much meaning.

He began to stalk away, my mouth moving on its own. "Daryl."

He didn't turn around, but he stopped in his tracks a few feet from the bunk. "Yea?"

There were so many things that my brain had to convince my tongue out of saying. I had questions, lots of them. Questions I was certain he knew the answers to. Specifically, the details of their meeting from earlier in the day and what my role had been in it. But I didn't ask. "The light," I finally said, my eyes shifting upwards even though he wasn't looking.

He spun on his heel, backtracking, jerking the lantern from where it hung above me. He killed the light completely, pulling the lantern from where it hung.

"Daryl." I said again, his body still hovering above mine. "Sage."

"Huh?"

"You asked me if I had a name. It's Sage."

I swore I could feel him smirk down at me through the darkness, moments before retreating back into the corner of the room.

I'm not sure what had possessed me, or why I'd felt the need. Nothing about my current situation should've led me to believe that he'd ever need to know my name. Or anything personal for that matter. But he'd asked, and I'd relented. Maybe it was the pain that I sensed he was hiding, pain that closely matched my own. There were different reasons for one's personal pain, but oftentimes it manifested in the same way.

We _were_ alike, no matter how much I wanted to deny it, and I didn't need days, or months or years to figure that out. Still, the realization was frightening.

I stifled the fear by reminding myself that when I healed and they cast me out or I escaped – whichever came first - none of it would matter.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hershel, please. I'd like to go outside. It's been a week."

"Sage," he warned, his voice low, his smile shimmering. "You know I don't have that kind of authority."

I'd asked him the same question on numerous occasions, and his response was always the same. But he wasn't angered by it. He understood my restlessness, my need to stretch my legs. I'd shared stories with him, tales of my upbringing, things that had crafted me into the woman I was today. I described the acres upon acres of land that I'd called home, the freedom that I'd felt at having all of it at my fingertips.

I was a woman born to run, born to explore, to run free and wild, hair flying behind me, with the wind in my face. While most of my peers had gone to college, gotten married, started a family, I'd stayed at home with my folks. At first to help Dad take care of Mom, and then to take care of him afterwards. But it was more than that. It was roots and plans. It was not seeing myself anywhere but there.

Sometimes, when I had a moment to enjoy a comfortable silence, I'd picture myself there, the way it should've been, before the madness. Maybe I would've met someone special, gotten married, grown old with him. It was my happy place. The only one I had left.

He'd grown fond of my antics, of my constant badgering, and of my stories. I was careful not to divulge details that I didn't see fit, but I told stories with excitement and fervor, explained my knowledge of tracking and hunting in great detail.

It was with him, in this strange place, that I'd forged the strongest bond. Not that I'd had much opportunity with anyone else. Anyone besides Daryl.

But he'd been gone, going on thirty-six hours now, sent somewhere on a raid for supplies. I tried convincing myself that it was for the best, that close proximity to the complex man was no good.

Since the nightmare episode, he'd grown silent. Just came and went, bringing steely eyes and undecipherable glances, folding them into that tiny corner of his, all the while keeping all thoughts and words to himself. Then he'd do something worse by taking it all away, destination unknown, reappearing again late at night, oftentimes after I'd already fallen asleep. I awoke each morning with the cuffs back in place. Sometimes he was awake to remove them, sometimes he wasn't.

It was confusing and exhausting and a shitty way to exist. I'd pray for him to leave as we sat in the uncomfortable silence, but resent my prayers the moment I was left alone. He hadn't even told me about the raid. It had been Hershel. He'd just… _left._ I knew that he wasn't obligated to, but Christ! Wasn't it common decency? Was the world void of it now that it had gone downhill?

"Then ask Rick if he'll come and see me. I'll talk to him. You said it yourself, my bruises are healing, movement would do me good," I said, diving right back into my pleas.

He gave an agreeing nod, his bushy brows gathering together towards the middle. He wore his long white hair gathered together at the nape of his neck, tied together by a piece of string. "I did," he said, his thick chest moving beneath his suspenders. "Your lungs need it. Your limbs too."

"Then please, just talk to him. Cuff me. Tie a rope around my waist and walk me like a dog. Whatever. I don't care." At this point, I truly didn't. Desperation would do that to you.

He eyed me, his wrinkles forming a familiar pattern on either side of them. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone brave and strong," he admitted, his eyes glazing over, disappearing into thought for a handful of minutes. He cleared his throat, shaking his head back and forth, returning to the present. "You got family? A mom? Dad? Husband?"

"Is this information you're gathering for the group or because you genuinely want to know?"

His gaze shifted to me harshly, surprised I'd had the guts to ask. "Both."

I nodded. "Fair enough." Not that I would spew personal information because of our newfound friendship, but I appreciated the honesty anyway.

"Here, sit up and give me your wrists," he instructed, pulling a chair up to the edge of the bed, sitting down to face me. I did as I was told, holding my bandaged arms out in front of me. He took his time unraveling the gauze. I'd done quite a number on them before they'd allowed my wrists any sort of freedom. "Not bad," he mumbled, proud of himself and happy with my progress. "Want me to reapply the ointment?"

"God, yes. It's almost better than sex," I admitted, a blush forging over my cheeks, creating heated mounds. "I didn't mean-"

He laughed, reaching behind him to produce the tube of ointment. "I think, before all this mess, you would've gotten along with my girls. Maggie especially." His girls were still alive, somewhere in this prison. He'd told me so sometime during our conversations.

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. "But not now?" I asked slowly, surprised at the hurt I felt, at how deeply it seemed to be clawing beneath my skin.

I wasn't supposed to be getting attached. I wasn't supposed to care. My plan was still Atlanta, on my own.

"Now…I'm not so sure," he answered hesitantly, again with honesty. I was beginning to think that Hershel didn't know any other way. "You seem…"

"Hardened? Pissed? Angry? _Scary?_ " I interjected.

"Yes, all of those things," he said softly.

Bitterness hardened my features, insecurities and self-doubt – something I'd thought I'd shed myself of ages ago – resurfaced. I didn't like the idea of not being good enough. "Aren't we all?" I defended.

He thought about his response long and hard, giving my wrists another round of scrutiny before applying the ointment gently over one, then the other. "Yes, I suppose so. But you seem more severe, more guarded."

I knew people from my previous experiences that were a lot more fucked up than me. So I found his statement hard to believe. I didn't know him well enough to know how exposed he'd been to others outside of his family and this group. Maybe that played into his opinion. "What about Daryl?"

Hershel lifted his head, his finger thick with more ointment, inches above one of my wrists. "What about him?"

"You say I'm guarded, hardened. What about him?"

His head dropped back down as he continued applying the salve. "He's a good man, Sage. He's done right by this group. Saved them. Fed them. Risked his life for them…and for you." He looked up as he said the last part. "He's guarded, but he does other things to make up for it. I suppose that his goodness evens out the badness. If you could even call it that." He pulled a fresh pack of gauze from the bag on the table, opening the package, exposing the contents. "The things that made him that way are his experiences, his stories, and it's his right to keep them to himself. If you want to know, you're asking the wrong person."

He secured the bandages with medical tape, somehow making me feel guilty over my question in the process. Like I was intruding, sticking my nose where it didn't belong or going behind Daryl's back to scout out information. I found it a bit off-putting considering he'd just tried to wriggle personal information from me for the sake of the group. I found my lips working through an apology anyway. "I'm sorry."

Gathering both of my hands within his, he gave them a reassuring squeeze, moving them so that they settled back onto my thighs. "Don't be." He stood to gather his things, heading towards the cell's exit.

"Where are you going?" I called after him.

He paused, turning back towards me. "To find Rick."

He locked the cell on his way out, my happy heart soaring the entire time.

* * *

He walked into the cell precisely as he'd left, without a single word. "You're back," I said, trying my best to sound nonchalant. There was a part of me, the devil I carried around on my shoulder, who'd been telling me he was gone. That he'd never return. I didn't want to care, but besides Hershel, who else could I rely on? Trust?

The thought had come without warning, my brain using the word against my consent. When had I decided to trust him? I hadn't, had I? So why had I thought it? Nothing about trusting or befriending someone was a good idea. _Before_ it would've been hard enough, but now, when losing people was so commonplace, trusting _anyone_ other than yourself was a sure way to get yourself killed. It's why I'd made a conscious effort not to since losing my dad. I didn't want that kind of hurt, that kind of pain. Once was enough.

"Yep," he mumbled, dumping a duffel bag into the corner of the room, rousing me from my thoughts. "Tha great Daryl Dixon lives ta see another day." There was sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

I noticed the dirt and blood caked on his arms, the way that the heaviest of the grime covered the smooth indentions that separated one muscle from another, accentuating the contours. In my mind, I pictured the kill. It had to have happened at close-range, either with a free bolt or one of his knives. The blood wouldn't splatter like that if he'd done it from a distance with his crossbow. I wondered how many there were. Wondered too how closely he'd come to death and how many times.

Solitude created a lot of wonder.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I settled my back against wall, hoping to get my wandering eyes under control and hopefully, in the process, curb my sadistic thoughts. "Dixon, huh?"

He looked up from what he was doing, his face, as always, unreadable. His features were hard, even more so than normal. "That's me." His lips barely moved beneath his response.

"It…fits." God, I sounded like an idiot. I blamed a combination of things – boredom, claustrophobia, solitude…wondering thoughts.

"Good thing. Wouldn't have much say-so if it didn't." His words were clipped, bitter.

"Did I do something?" Another string of words that should've never made their way past my lips.

"What kinda question's that?" His brows knitted together in the center. I noticed the gash on his bottom lip for the first time and the scratches on his arm.

"Are those…" I began, leaning forward, stopping myself short. What the hell did I plan on doing if they were?

His eyes followed mine, landing on the spot of my concern. "No. They're not."

I settled back onto the wall, perturbed. I was going soft because of my seclusion, sprouting things like feelings that decided to hurt when people snapped at me, or looked at me differently. Or better yet, in Daryl's case, _indifferently_. I needed my bow and the woods and death and blood – lots and lots of walker blood. It was sad that my life had digressed to needing something so vile. But it had become a basic necessity: food, water, killing.

"You just seem _angry_ ," I continued, forgetting the scratches, scrunching my nose up like I smelled something fowl. I had – namely, his piss poor attitude.

"We lost a coupla people on this one."

"Anyone you're…close too?" The question was more personal than we were friendly. He stilled beneath it. If he knew that I had a picture of Carol in my mind, he'd never speak to me again. "You don't have to answer that."

He turned his head away from me, opening the duffel bag, rummaging through the contents inside. "I found these for ya," he mumbled, pulling four bolts from inside. "I noticed a few of yers were broken after…" He stopped shy of mentioning his brother's name.

I nodded, signifying my understanding, attempting to hide my surprise – my gratitude. He bridged the distance between us, handing over his find, propping his shoulder up on one of the metal bunk posts afterwards. If his thoughtfulness had been a surprise, the fact that he'd just placed sharp objects in my possession while he was in striking distance was an even bigger one.

I allowed myself another peek at him - feet crossed at the ankles, arms linked protectively over his chest – and I struggled to speak. Even opened my mouth a solid inch in an attempt to do so, but couldn't, my mind coming up short of anything worthy. There was no graceful way to close a flabbergasted, fallen chin, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "Daryl-"

"Don't. It was nothin'," he said, swatting a casual hand through the air. He moved the same hand up to scratch his forehead with the back of his thumb. "Found it inna ditch while we were runnin' from a heard."

"A heard?!" Not just a few walkers, an entire heard. "You guys ran into a _heard_?"

"Yea, no big deal," he replied, with a blasé shrug to his shoulders. He glanced backwards, lowering his voice to a whisper as he leaned forward. "Keep yer voice down. I don't want Carol ta hear. She'll be worried. Worry leads ta hoverin'." I pretended to understand, to not be offended. "Killed a bunch of tha fuckers. Needed to blow off some steam." He brought his middle finger up to his mouth, working the nail in between his teeth before clamping down.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said. I _did_ understand the last part, more than he could possibly know. After an entire week here, I had a lot of steam that needed to be blown.

"Your bruises?" he asked, changing subjects, spitting out a piece of his nail. He shoved the finger right back into his mouth afterwards.

"Hershel says they're good. He says he's going to speak to Rick about letting me go outside," I rambled, thankful in the moment to be free of my solitude. Thankful too that he was speaking to me again. I appreciated his conversation a hell of a lot more than his vacant stares.

"That's good."

"Is it?"

He nodded. "It'll take yer mind off tha group's decision."

I frowned. "Not if you're here to remind me." He shrugged, giving an agreeing nod. "You trust me with these?" I asked, waiving the bolts out in front of me.

"Ya kill me, ya won't make it far. They'll kill you fer it. Track ya as far as they need ta."

"You think you're _that_ important?" It was a joke, something meant to lighten the mood. He needn't respond for me to know the answer. Of course he was important to these people, Hershel had told me so.

"Some of 'em." There was a sadness to his response, some underlying meaning beyond the obvious.

"I wouldn't," I whispered, staring at the space in front of me, not daring to voice the words while looking at him.

"Wouldn't what?"

"Kill you."

"I tend ta grow on people." I hated that his voice sounded so nonchalant, so void of _anything_ , when I'd just admitted something I would've normally kept to myself. I wanted to take the words back. "It's tha Dixon way."

There was both bitterness and sarcasm in this response too. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of something. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something that was driving him to the brink of something else.

Hoping to continue in the direction of a light mood, I said the next words without even thinking. "I can't imagine Merle ever growing on me."

His whole body went rigid, the look on his face harder and more concentrated with anger than I'd ever seen before. And sadness. So much fucking sadness. It was then that it hit me. He'd lost him. Merle had died. And while it was a win for me, for humankind, the man had meant something to him.

It had crushed something inside of him. While he was gifting me with bolts, I'd been asking him silly questions, joking about pointless shit, and he was standing across from me, dealing with the death of his brother.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know," I fumbled, standing from the bed, ignoring the protests from my unused muscles. Before I had an opportunity to think it through, I was heading towards him, God knows with what intentions in mind. "I'm an idiot. I swear. You didn't answer before and I…You just sometimes don't answer my questions and so I…didn't think. Shit." My words came out in a mad rush, my tongue working overtime to right my wrongs.

I'd closed the distance, now occupying the space in front of him. My hands made their way up to his arms, ignoring the dirt and blood, gripping onto the muscles like somehow the tightness of my grasp would convey the regret that I felt inside. The sharp ends of the bolts that I'd yet to part ways with extended upwards, towering just above his head, their shafts sandwiched between my hand and his right bicep.

"Say something. Please," I whispered softly. I knew what it felt like to lose someone. I also knew the anger that I'd feel towards another if they'd said what I had about my loved one.

He lifted his hands to either side of my face, squeezing down tightly. His eyes looked beyond me, somewhere over my shoulder. "I killed 'im. He came after me, already turned, wantin' ta kill me and I put a bolt right between his eyes. Did it with ma hands. Not ma crossbow. Did it while he was lookin' dead at me. I called out to 'im and there was nothin'," he said, shaking his head back and forth in short, angry motions. "Nothin'. Just blank. Fuckin' blank."

"I'm sorry. So, so sorry," I whispered, staring up into his blue eyes. They were pained, angry, saddened. "I understand your pain. I do. I know you don't understand that I do, but I do."

"How couldja possibly understand? Ya have no clue how it felt. No clue knowin' tha whole time he was comin' towards me that I got no other option. Ya don't…" he sputtered, stopping to look down at me.

"I do!" I screamed, feeling unwanted tears and emotions bubble to the surface. Because the entire time he was explaining Merle's death, I was picturing my dad's. They were the same. What had happened and what we'd both had to do, ran parallel to each other.

"How?" he asked, his fingers gripping into the back of my neck now, his palms doing the same to my cheek.

"Because I had to kill my father too," I seethed, tears rolling down my assaulted cheeks, stopping short when they reached his palms, taking the detour around them. His back went ramrod straight, the pressure he was applying softened.

"Sage," he breathed, choking on his next breath, staring at me through a pair of eyes he'd never laid on me before.

It was the first time he'd said my name. Beneath the tears and the rage and the sorrow that admitting my darkest moment had conjured, his voice saying my name had been like a velvet blanket laying protectively over a bed of thorns.

A gun cocked behind us, Rick's voice booming at me through the cell doors. "Drop the arrows and step away from him."

"It's not what you think," I cried.

"Close your mouth and step out of the cell. You're coming with me."


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm overwhelmed at the amount of 'views' in just a day's time. No reviews as of yet, but I'm staying positive, sticking to the storyline that has consumed me. - By the way, that is me, pretending not to care. XOXO**

 **I should probably add that I'm really not following the show's storyline and don't have any plans to. If you've made it this far, you already know that. Some of the events may be used, but I'll add my own spin to it.**

* * *

I'd gotten a new block. Not a cell, an entire block. All to myself. I wasn't flattered over the upgrade. In fact, I was just the opposite. This was the worst form of quarantine. A smaller space had been less… _lonely maybe?_ Now that I had all of this open space, it was like my mind was running rampant, going over and over the things that I'd said, the things that I'd done – decisions made along the way – _everything._

I was slowly, methodically, driving myself insane. I needed a decision from the group: cast me out, kill me... _Let me stay_. Ironically, the last thought scared me more than the first two. Option one was still, of course, the most enticing. Option two sent a splintering shiver down my spine. I wasn't ready to die. Not yet. But it was an alternative that would alleviate me of this hell I was living in.

Option three? I wasn't even sure when it had become an option. Over the course of the ten days that I'd been in the prison – _or was it eleven now?_ – I'd begun to think that if they wanted me to, I'd give it serious thought. They seemed to have a good supply of food. I hadn't missed a meal since being here. There was obviously decent protection because of the prison, being that the building's sole purpose before the madness was to keep people in and others out.

And then there was Daryl.

Daryl and his eyes and the pain that I understood. Daryl and his gifts, bolts that meant way more to me than flowers or candy ever would. Maybe he didn't know that I'd never been a traditional romantic before. Maybe he didn't fully understand what he'd done by giving the damned things to me. Maybe it meant nothing and that's what he did for everyone here. I didn't fucking know because I'd been locked up the entire time, the contact minimal.

The confusing thoughts were fuel for my legs, the muscles in them working overtime as I jogged up the set of stairs in the middle of block, then back down. What was this, number ten? Fifteen? I'd lost track. It didn't matter. None of it. I was regaining my strength. Preparing myself…just in case.

I pushed myself harder, trying to suppress the vision that hit me daily. The last look that _he'd_ given me, right after my confession, right after I'd blabbed and told him something that I'd intended to keep safely guarded. The look had been different. I'd recognized it then and I was certain of it now.

A light switch. Something clicking into place. A kinship. An understanding. A realization that said, _I am not alone_.

But _I_ was alone. Dreadfully so. Fucking alone and pissed off and moody. It was a downward spiral, one that I could feel in my bones, in my soul. And I was punishing myself through physical exertion, running myself into the ground. The exercise was making me stink of sweat, my clothes rank.

Just another shitty thing to add to my list of accumulated shittiness.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, I lifted my tank top up to my nose and inhaled. The action left me pulling the fabric back down, choking over the putrid smell. Nowadays, given the current status of the world, things like modesty and cleanliness normally took a backseat. You cared more about living, the next raid, your next meal - killing the walker in front of you who wanted to kill you first - than clean clothes and body odor.

Even still, I'd stop at a stream on occasions, strip free of my clothes and give them a scrub down. I'd normally dry the clothes on a nearby rock or hang them from a tree, wade nude through the water as I waited for them to dry. In most cases, the stream alone did a pretty good number on the accumulated blood and sweat and dirt. I'd give a lot for some fresh water right now.

Maybe being free of any sort of danger for almost two weeks was warping my mind, allowing me to dwell on things that weren't supposed to matter.

The distinct sound of thick metal grinding against itself sounded off through the cell block. It would be Hershel with my lunch. He'd come in, say a few rehearsed lines and leave. I had a suspicion that he'd been told not to get close to me. _Fuckers!_ I'd asked him – scratch that, begged him – to talk to me last time, all but cried trying to explain that I was going crazy being alone in this place. He had ignored me – same as all the times before - done his duty by leaving my plate of food, then turned and hobbled away.

I was surprised to find a fresh-faced woman about my age situated in the entryway, tray of food in hand. Her hair was about the same color as mine, a dark, ashy color of brown, cropped short just above her shoulders. She was strikingly beautiful, with wide eyes and a pretty mouth. And she was clean – her hair, her body, her clothes. Even the stains were faded versions of what once was.

She stood deathly still, like she hadn't expected me to be standing there, staring directly at her. Apparently, she'd been anticipating a drop-and-go like Hershel. Well, I had news for her: _tough shit!_ I was a real, live person. Not just some animal being fed and fattened up for some dinner plate down the road.

She seemed to realize that she was gawking, her eyes darting down nervously to the food in her hand before bending forward and placing it on the floor, just inside the door. She gave me another curious, deer-in-the-headlights glance, before backing away, preparing to leave.

"Wait!" I called after her, finding my voice amidst my surprise. She froze. "Don't leave," I said, trying to strike the shakiness from my voice. "I-I don't want to be alone." The words whooshed out of me, the admission strangely therapeutic.

She continued staring at me, completely silent.

"What's your name?" I tried, hoping that something simple would kick-start a conversation. "Mine's Sage. Sage Winters."

Her eyes narrowed. Not out of anger, but more like she was trying to figure out my motives. "I know your name."

"Of course you do," I said, biting back embarrassment. It had been a stupid thing to say anyway. I was certain that the whole prison new about their _prisoner._ "I won't hurt you. I'm not a bad person. Not like everyone thinks," I added, unsure of why I felt compelled to win her over.

She nodded slowly, not at all appearing convinced.

"I was alone, hunting for food," I explained, taking a few hesitant steps towards her. "Merle and Daryl came across me and Merle clocked me, knocked me right out." I released a nervous chuckle, realizing how long ago the event seemed. "That's how I ended up here, with you guys. Now I'm just…alone." The last word was said barely above a whisper. Feeling sorry for myself was bad enough. Now I was actually sharing that sorrow with others.

A blank stare. That was all my explanation had earned. Maybe she didn't believe me because everyone was under the impression that I had tried to hurt Daryl. "I wasn't hurting Daryl," I said hesitantly. "I wouldn't hurt _him._ " I had no clue where that last part had come from, spewing from my like I had diarrhea of the mouth.

Her eyes widened, her lips slowly pulling apart. She was on the verge of saying something, but she stopped herself short, closed her mouth entirely and stepped backwards. Something made her double-back, her expression changed. "That's what he said," she whispered, her face lifting in surprise like she hadn't planned on saying it. "Daryl, I mean. He told Rick that you weren't hurting him. That you and he were discussing Merle."

I was shocked by her words. Shocked too by his actions. He'd tried to defend me. My heart shouldn't like the fact so much. But it did. More reason that I needed to get the hell out of this place. "So then, why am I still here? If Daryl told Rick the truth, why does he still have me locked in this cell block?"

She hesitated again. I could see the conflict on her face, the inner struggle that was taking place. She was trying to decipher what she should and shouldn't say, probably feeling like she'd already said too much. "Rick thinks that Daryl is too rattled by Merle's death. That he wouldn't really understand it even if you had been trying to hurt him."

Rick's reasoning was shit. It sucked to know that his opinions of me couldn't be any further from the truth, and that I had no way to go about changing them. This was not good news as far as the vote was concerned.

"Where is he?" I asked without thinking. Desperate too because I felt the conversation was coming to a close.

She tilted her head to the side, green eyes flashing curiously. "He's out on another raid. Rick sent him the morning after _the incident_ …with you."

So it'd been labeled an incident by the powers that be. _Great. Just fucking great._ They couldn't possibly understand that it had been so much more than that. Two people who had lost someone important to them, both killed by their own blood's hands.

"He's been gone for a while now?" I was asking if he was okay without asking. And I was looking for an explanation as to why he hadn't visited me. It was selfish and pathetic, but I'd already said it and I couldn't take it back. And I wanted to know.

"There was a lot to do. We expected them to be gone for a while." He wasn't alone. I breathed a sigh of relief, surprised when it came out louder than I'd anticipated. It surprised my visitor too. "He'll be back, Sage," she said, like she'd known how much I needed to hear it.

"If Rick felt like Daryl was taking Merle's death so hard, why would he think sending him out on a raid was a good idea? Why would he put him in that position?"

"Daryl is complicated," she explained. _Didn't I know it?_ "Oftentimes he works best under duress. It's why he's so calm during critical moments, when shit hits the fan. It's part of what makes Daryl, Daryl."

"It was still a risk that Rick shouldn't have taken," I pointed out, angry with what I felt had been a careless decision on Rick's part. I didn't give two shits about Daryl's ability to fight through his emotions. Decisions shouldn't be made based upon past outcomes. It was a stupid move. Period.

"You're right," she admitted, catching me off guard. "Rick's afraid that Daryl's getting too close to you. I think that's the biggest reason for the decision."

"That's shit and you know it," I said, trying to reel in my anger and all of the other underlying emotions that came along with it. "Besides, would it be so bad if it were the case?"

She shook her head no, but her response opposed the action. "He's an important piece to our group. We can't afford to lose him."

Her answers only created more questions. Why would a friendship with me, mean losing him? Surely these people had formed bonds with one another, were friends. Did it mean that Daryl didn't have friends? Or were they just opposed to him being friends with me?

The realization that I'd just stumbled upon the truth hit me pretty hard. It was something that I'd revisit later on. But right now, I needed to ask a favor, and I knew that my window of opportunity was very quickly drawing to a close. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Asking doesn't always equate getting, but sure, go ahead."

I looked down towards the clothes that I word, tugging on the bottom of my soggy tank for added sympathy. "I'd appreciate some water. Enough that I can clean myself, take a make-shift bath. And maybe some soap too." I knew it was asking a lot, but she had to understand, had to see, that despite my captivity, I was a woman too, just like her. We had needs all the same.

Her eyes traveled the length of me, taking in my appearance and the state of my clothes. "I'll see what I can do," she said finally.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." I was barely able to contain my excitement. She offered me a warm smile. "I didn't get your name," I called out to her.

"Maggie," she said simply. Then she was gone.

* * *

Apparently, humanity wasn't entirely dead. Sometime during the night, I'd been left a five gallon bucket of fresh water, a clean bar of soap, a towel and some piece of torn fabric that would make for a good washcloth. They'd even thrown in a bonus: an extra pair of clothes.

I was so giddy I could barely talk myself into my morning exercise. Because I knew the importance of it, I did it anyway. Armed with the motivation of cleanliness on the other side, I pushed myself extra hard, doing almost double my normal workout.

Afterwards, I pulled my new treasures into one of the cells towards the center of the room. Unfolding the towel, I placed it flat on the floor, pulling the bucket of water front and center. I quickly rid myself of the fowl clothing, scooting them into a pile in the corner, far enough away that I didn't have to smell them. Anxious and completely naked for the first time in over a month, I sat Indian style in the center of the towel, dipping the cloth into the cold water, enjoying the simplicity of it. I grabbed for the soap and began the tedious task of washing a body that badly needed it.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been at it, enjoying it so much that I lost track of time. There was no need to hurry anyway. I was alone and would continue to be. I shifted my body weight onto my knees, bending forward to dip my hair into the bucket. The water had lost its clarity long ago, but I didn't care. I would make it work. I immersed my head entirely into the water, bringing my fingers up to relieve my scalp of the dirt and grim. I couldn't remember something feeling so glorious. When I pulled my head reluctantly from the bucket, I was ill prepared to hear someone calling out to me.

"Sage, you there? Sage?"

He sounded panicked. "Daryl?" I called out, my voice laced with confusion. No response. I was beginning to think that maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. It was a very real possibility, something that had happened before. "Daryl?" I called again, frozen in place.

"Sage?"

It was him. Jesus Christ, I was in a predicament. I began to scramble desperately, in search of the clean set of clothes. He couldn't see me like this! Naked. _Exposed_. It had been years since a man had seen me in the nude. It had been awkward enough for me then, and I could only assume that it would be just as awkward now, fairly certain that half a decade hadn't changed that fact.

Boots shuffled across the concrete, the sounds growing closer. I was running out of time. I spotted the clothes at the last moment, grabbing for them, using them to cover the two exposed private areas.

"Sage?" he said again, his voice finding me from the entrance of the cell. "Oh, Jesus. Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ta…Didn't know…What're ya…" he sputtered, holding apologetic hands out in front of him. An honest to God blush found his cheeks, the tiniest signs of redness dotting their otherwise tan surface. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he didn't make an effort to give me privacy, nor did he look away.

"I was bathing," I managed, shivering beneath the cold and the moment. Water from my wet head dripped down my back, cold droplets racing south, heading towards my bare ass. "Or at least trying to."

A silence cloaked the moment, oxygen growing sparse. I didn't miss the dart that his eyes did down to the clothing that shielded me from full exposure. His tongue darted out of his mouth, sliding over his lips, drawing my attention there. A thought crossed my mind – a warning. I needed to speak, to tell him to leave so I could get dressed, rid myself of this compromising situation, but I couldn't get my mouth to work

"Daryl," I finally managed. "I need to get dressed."

The trance was broken, my words shattering whatever _thing_ had been happening. "Yeah, o' course," he mumbled, scratching his forehead, nodding dumbly before exiting the cell.

I rushed to pull the clothes over my shaky limbs, knowing the whole time that this was going to be the most awkward conversation I'd had in a while.


	6. Chapter 6

"You're back."

I don't know why I kept saying that to him. It was the second time I'd done it in the past few days. Maybe because when people came and went, there was always the possibility that they wouldn't return. It was a norm I'd grown accustom to, not one I typically fretted over.

Over his return, I had fretted.

I plastered a smile on my face, trying desperately to ignore the disturbing thoughts and approach him like a woman who hadn't almost exposed her lady bits to him. He'd found a space of wall right next to the entrance to the cell block, his back flat against it, one leg bent at the knee, boot resting against the wall, the other leg extended out in front of him.

"Maggie told ya 'bout tha raid," he said.

It wasn't a question. He already knew. I nodded.

My eyes noted the gash on his lip, the one from before. It was agitated, cracked further open by means unknown. Beneath the dirt that plagued his face, there was a distinct darkening ring around his right eye. He'd come back, but it hadn't been without trouble.

"Needed supplies. Lots of 'em," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest, startling me from my assessment. "We were runnin' low. Took some time ta find all that we needed. Got held up too, just south of tha prison."

"That what happened to your face?"

His lips drew into a grim line. "It was nothin'."

Like I had zero sense, I bridged the gap between us, pinching his chin between my fingers, openly scrutinizing his battle scars. "Nothing my ass," I muttered. He looked uncomfortable beneath my touch, like if he could run he would've. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner. And your lip…" I trailed off, biting my own. My thumb traced over the gash I'd referenced. He winced in response. I wasn't sure if it was from pain or the fact that he didn't like me touching him.

"Part o' tha deal."

"With who?" I asked, eyes narrowed. "Rick?"

I released his chin, meaning to back away. His hand caught my forearm, squeezing tight, gaining my attention. "He's not a bad guy. A good leader. Looks out for tha group."

There had been no room left for a rebuttal, so I didn't attempt one. In the moment, it wasn't important enough anyway. I tugged my arm from his grasp, his hand drifting awkwardly back down to his side. "Follow me. I want to take a closer look."

If he thought my plan was a bad idea, he didn't protest, following directly behind me as we retraced our path across the cell block, back into the cell I'd claimed. Pulling the towel from where I had draped it over the bunk to dry, I returned it to the floor, taking my time to flatten it. "Sit," I instructed, pointing to the floor.

"Whadya mean ta do?" Skeptical eyes peered over at me as he asked the question.

"Just want to see how bad it is. Clean it up a bit," I told him, pointing towards the water bucket. It wasn't as clean as I would've liked it to be, but it was all I had. "Paranoid much?"

He grunted, looking strangely childlike beneath the situation. I got the distinct feeling that Daryl Dixon did not like to be in the dark - no surprise parties in his past. "Just don't like ta be touched much."

My ears perked up over the new piece of information. What a strange, totally Daryl-like response.

"Okay. Fair enough," I said, sitting down on the floor on one end of the towel. "I won't touch _much_." For added proof, I patted the floor in front of me. He eyed it, contemplating. I waited patiently, glad when he finally relented.

He sat before me, knees bent, arms hanging over them. Apparently, he wasn't an Indian-style kind of guy. Dipping the cloth into the water, I turned back towards him, having to scooch my knees up between his legs to reach his face. He opened them further to accommodate, not seeming at all concerned that this position was more compromising than if he'd crossed his legs.

I touched the cloth to his lip, focusing initially on the swollen area around the actual cut. I wasn't surprised when he flinched, his face falling backwards as a reflex. "Yeah, it's not pretty," I commented, shooting him a thin-lipped grimace. His fingers grazed over my sides, something unintentional, but my body noticed all the same. He seemed to notice too. His irises widened, breathing slowed.

"Rick thinks we're getting too close." Ironic words considering our faces were a foot apart.

"I know." He nodded in unison with the words. I dipped the cloth back into the water and squeezed off the excess before returning. "Figured as much, at least."

"Do you agree?" I busied my anticipation by working on the gash, trying my best to free it of dirt without pressing too hard. It was pretty bad. Looked pretty painful too.

His eyes flashed up to mine, fire burning beneath the light irises. "No."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I asked, feeling the shot of tension his response had injected into the situation.

"You always make me uncomfortable." His breathing was soft, his voice steady, eyes giving nothing away. He was a walking enigma.

"I'm not trying to."

"Most people don't talk ta me tha way you do."

Heat snaked its way throughout my body, my hand momentarily pausing. "How's that?"

"I don't quite know yet."

His responses were quick, to the point, honest yet vague. He was saying exactly what he meant to, but I couldn't decode it – the words, the phrases, the things that had my stomach dipping low, pulling at something somewhere it shouldn't.

I wasn't a complete idiot when it came to the male species, but I also wasn't near as experienced as I would've preferred. Daryl was complex, Maggie'd said as much. Hell, I _knew_ as much. He didn't exactly give himself away, kept his thoughts bottled up neatly. I'd never given a whole hell of a lot of thought to the characteristics I desired in men, but I liked what I saw in him. People talked too much and acted too little in my opinion. He wasn't like that. Which was precisely why touching him was the absolute last thing that I needed to do. But I did it anyway, put the cloth right up to his eye and pressed gently. He closed his eyes, an exaggerated breath leaving his lips.

"Want me to stop?"

His eyes sprung back open, pinning right on me. I hated when he stared at me like that. I felt… _unsure._ Of myself. Of what he was thinking. Of what would come next. "Don't know 'bout that yet either."

"You're all I've got."

A flash of rage ignited behind his eyes – not exactly the reaction I was expecting. "That why yer talkin' ta me? I yer only option?" he accused, pulling his face out of my grasp.

"No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Sit still," I persuaded, grasping his shoulders to tug him forward. "It came out wrong." He leaned in the rest of the way, hesitance still apparent.

"How'd ya mean it?"

I sat back on my heels, hands on my thighs, not caring at all that the wet cloth was creating a ring of dampness on my new pants. "I've been alone for a long time, Daryl. And even when I wasn't, I wanted to be. You brought me here, and all I wanted to do was leave, figure out a way to escape. But I think…now…" I paused, sighing as I licked my lips. What _did_ I think? That I was scared shitless when he left, of him not coming back? That I'd gone from considering him a deer thief to a confidant? I couldn't do it, couldn't say all that to him. Not when he was so skittish and I, so unsure. "Shit, now I don't know what I think." It was the truth at least.

He nodded, turning his head away from me, staring out into nothingness. "Yeah, me neither."

Another phrase I didn't understand. _Fuck._ This was why I never did the crosswords in the paper – hints and subtleties were never my strong suit. Say what you mean, mean what you say. For me, that had always been the way. Now here I was, saying half of what I meant and not exactly knowing what to say.

"Ya might not have a choice. 'Bout leavin' I mean." He brought his arm up, rubbing the top of it beneath his nose, scratching at an itch. His hand went up to his hair afterwards, fingers forking through it, making a mess out of the chaos that already existed.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," I said, shrugging even though I didn't have his attention. "You'll be here, right? Talking to me…" There was a question mark at the end of that statement, the slightest upturn of my voice to insinuate it.

"Yeah, I'll be here. Ain't left tha group since meetin' up with 'em. No one else'd have me anyway," he muttered.

Somehow, I didn't think that his statement were true, but I didn't go there. Not just yet.

Dipping the washcloth back into the water once more, realizing he still wouldn't meet my eye, I reached out for the side of his face, trying to guide it back to me. He put up a good resistance, ducking emotionally behind his Daryl-built wall, but my perseverance paid off in the end. I dabbed at his brow, a trickle of water escaping from the cheap cloth with the action. Without thinking, I brought my free hand up to catch the cascading drop just moments before it crashed into his eyelashes.

"As long as you don't stop talking to me. I can't take it. It's the silence…and being alone with my thoughts. It's driving me crazy. Making me weak too. I need my bow and the freedom to use it. In here, I can't get myself to go away," I admitted, pulling my free hand from his eye, wiping the wetness on my shirt. God, I didn't want to say what my tongue was itching to, would've never said it _before._ But I did it anyway because we were as far from _before_ as we could get. "You cut into that silence and it gets me through. That's what I meant to say, Daryl."

"Ya meant all that by tha little bit ya said earlier?" I nodded. He gave a sarcastic grunt. "Fuckin' women," he muttered, shaking his head.

"That _and_ , if you ever go after my deer again, I'll kick you in your shins, kill my supper and leave you for the walkers."

"Then who would ya talk ta? You bein' so lonely and all," he challenged.

I was fairly certain that in Daryl language that had been a joke.

"I guess I'd have to figure that part out when the time came. But I'd be full." I smirked, earning one from him in return.

"Ya'd just find another Daryl. Ya seem like ya could hold yer own. People'd take ya in."

"I'm not so sure about that," I managed, using my thighs as leverage to stand. "Finding another Daryl, I mean. Not too many men left in this world with manly badass capes." I dropped the washcloth at his feet and turned to leave. "Make sure Hershel puts something on that lip. And your eye looks like shit," I called over my shoulder, exiting the cell with a quickness.

I wasn't exactly sure where I was headed. Space was fairly limited but, currently, I needed the distance, even if it was a half a cell block away. My loneliness had said and done too much.

* * *

They hadn't exactly made an effort to make things comfortable for me in here. No lantern for the dark, no sheets or pillow for the hard plastic that I called a bed, no guard at the gate that I could badger. Just me and a cell in the complete darkness. If walkers somehow breached the prison, I was fucked. I'd killed one of them with my bare hands before, but I didn't prefer it. No, I needed my bow. But there wasn't a chance in hell I'd be getting it.

The cell block was so desolate, the moon didn't even want to shine through. Maybe Rick had negotiated the terms. In the darkness, your fear both heightened and steered your senses. My fear was driving my senses straight off of a cliff. This was madness. I had to find a way out.

Tomorrow though. You couldn't form an escape route in the pitch dark.

I mumbled obscenities not viewed as ladylike in the South, wedging myself in between the wall and the back of the bed, making sure to face out into the darkness. If something, or someone, wanted to harm me, I would meet them head on.

The opening of the cell block gates startled me from my thoughts, my body going rigid beneath the sound. At this hour, there was no explanation for a visitor. Especially since my dinner had been delivered hours before. The vast majority of it still sat mostly untouched by the exact gate that was now being opened.

A small light bounced into view, the arch of it cascading its brightness onto the floor, getting bigger as whoever was approaching closed in. "Who is it?" I called out hesitantly. If it was a walker, they wouldn't respond and I'd know to prepare myself.

"It's me," a gravelly voice responded, the sound echoing into the darkness.

"Daryl?" What, in God's name was he doing down here this time of night? Weren't there group laws against it? Rick would shit if he knew. Carol too.

"Yeah, it's me," he confirmed, appearing at the cell's opening, a lantern and duffle bag in tow. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder, the strap hugging in between his pectorals, highlighting the muscle there. "Set it right inside tha gate," he called over his shoulder. There were scuffling noises ricocheting throughout the cell block, a few clatters and then nothing. "Thanks Glenn."

No response at first, and then a male's voice boomed back. "Need anything else?"

"Nope. All good."

"You sure this is a good idea?" The same voice came at us as a whisper-slash-yell through the darkness.

"Don't fuckin' care if it ain't," Daryl called back, letting the duffle bag fall from his shoulder. It landed with a thud on the floor. He popped his head back out of the cell. "Ain't nobody's business I'm here, Glenn. No need ta say nothin' 'bout it though."

There wasn't a response. I supposed the silence acted as an agreement of sorts between the two since minutes later the cell block door closed with a definitive bang. I hadn't moved since he'd entered the cell. I wasn't completely certain that he wasn't my mind's apparition.

"So, I'm guessing both Rick and Carol don't know you're here." I don't know why I said it, wasn't sure why I'd included Carol in the equation either, but I had.

"Don't care," he grunted, repeating what he'd said to the Glenn guy moments before.

His back was turned me, the muscles there working in tandem with his arms as he removed the contents of the bag. My heart leapt at the sight of a blanket. "Noticed when I's here earlier, there wasn't no light. Or blanket."

"Thanks, Daryl," I said softly. He hesitated, his hands pausing immediately after my words before busying themselves again. "It means a lot," I added. He turned back towards me, extending his hand out with the blanket in tow. I sat up to accept his gift, trying not to dwell on the fact that our fingers touched during the transfer.

"Nobody needs ta be cold or in tha dark here. No need fer it. If somethin' happens, we need everyone we got."

He had belittled his kindness again, appearing uncomfortable beneath the praise. Apparently, Daryl made a habit of doing nice things and then downplaying them afterwards.

"I see you went to see Hershel like I suggested." He had a butterfly band aid pressed firmly over his lip, some shiny ointment slathered over top of it.

He grunted, giving a quick jerk for a nod, sneering a little like he hadn't wanted to but had done it anyway. He grabbed another blanket from the bag, extending it out towards me too. "What about you?" I asked, standing to accept the second blanket.

Again, he jerked his head back and forth, setting the bag into a corner. He disarmed himself of his crossbow, propping it up against the wall next to the bag. He looked like he was going to sit on the floor beside his things. Good God, he was. His back slid down the wall to prove it. He'd been more than kind to me since that day in the forest, on numerous occasions, surprising me, intriguing me. I'd be damned if I was letting him sleep on the floor.

"Daryl, you're not sleeping on the floor," I informed him, standing deathly still in the middle of the cell. Sure, I'd seen him do it before, knew he was completely capable of surviving the hard concrete. But we weren't strangers anymore. We were adults, verging on friendship. We could lie on the same bunk without it being awkward.

Another grunt. "Slept on worse, Sage." He shrugged, closing his eyes down over the statement like he meant for it to be the end of the conversation.

I felt the heat flare inside of me before I could stop it, crossing the space between us. "Daryl Dixon, get your hardheaded ass up off the floor and over to the bunk. I mean it. Right this second." My demanding mouth kept spewing my frustrations, my hands landing on his unsuspecting shoulders and chest when he ignored me.

His eyes popped open seconds before he grabbed both of my wrists. With his hands still squeezing down over them, he eyed the bunk in question. "Where d'ya mean ta sleep?"

"On the other side."

His eyes spread wide, nostrils flaring as a result of the huff that left his throat. He didn't like my suggestion. Not one bit. I tried not to be offended, tried squashing the thought that if I was Carol he probably wouldn't hesitate. But I couldn't. "I won't bite. And it's the least I can do considering your kindness," I admitted referencing the light and the blankets, pausing before I added the last item, " _Please._ "

He pulled himself reluctantly from the floor, not even meeting my gaze as he passed by, shoving himself into a far corner. I followed behind him, waiting until he got completely still before I climbed onto my side. Sometimes, being with Daryl was like tracking my next kill. You had to approach it carefully, methodically, do all the right things, before finally getting him in your crosshairs. I shouldn't like the frustrating situation that it presented. I shouldn't want to continue doing it. But I found myself wanting an awful lot lately that I hadn't wanted before. I frowned.

"If yer gonna frown like that all night, I'll get back on the floor."

I made a mental note to keep my emotions in check. Or, at the very least, try and keep them from playing themselves out on my face. Apparently, Daryl was looking even when I thought he wasn't.

He closed his eyes, his breathing turning steady within minutes. I took the time to appreciate the view. There was so much that I didn't know, so much I had to assume. And it wasn't like asking him questions was a valid option. Most of the time, he responded with some sort of grunt or shrug that left you more confused than before.

Where had this strange man been _before?_ Where was his family? His wife or girlfriend? Did he have children? He was old enough to have the last two, even if my stomach didn't appreciate the thought. I felt confident in saying that he was in his late thirties, _possibly_ early forties. But his body showed little signs of aging. His age showed mostly in his eyes, the beautiful ones with all the layers, the ones that looked like they'd seen more than their fair share of awful things. They held sadness and knowledge, skepticism and anger. It's what I saw every time he looked at me - all of those conflicting emotions clashing together amidst a sea of beauty.

I wanted to see them again. Now. I slid my foot beneath his ribcage, nudging him back and forth, calling out to him.

"What?" he mumbled, eyes remaining closed.

"Wake up," I whispered, nudging him again. He moved with the quickness of a cat, grabbing my ankle, pulling it out from under his ribcage. I expected him to push it aside, to swat it away, but he didn't. He pulled my foot onto his chest, fingers resting around my ankle. "I said wake up." My words came out as a shameful quiver.

It was hard to recall the last time that I'd let a man get close enough to touch me. It had to have been Christopher, the boy that grew up down the road from us. He'd been born beneath the same set of financial circumstances as my family. It seemed like a million years ago when he'd touched me, his fingers gliding nervously over my skin in the back of his old Ford pickup. He'd fumbled with the fly on his jeans for at least ten minutes before exposing my eyes to their first penis. The night had been as brief as our fling, but I'd lost my virginity and my desire to pursue it again.

Since then, my hand had always been enough. Hell, since the virus, I hadn't had time to think about it. You didn't exactly get idle time that allowed you to fantasize. If I ever did get free time from worry and survival, I thought of home and how much I missed it. Not of the boy down the road who'd been the only person inside me.

"You ever miss it?" I whispered, feeling the sadness creep into my bones. "Home? Before?"

His eyes pulled open, the blue orbs shifting slowly over my face. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or confused. Maybe he was a little of both. The question had been a little left fieldish. "No," he finally said.

I hated his short answers, the ones that made me feel like an idiot for whatever question I'd just asked. He was an awful conversationalist. I'd picked a shitty individual to be intrigued over.

"You?" he asked sleepily, catching me off guard.

Daryl hardly ever provoked conversation. I was glad for it now. "Sometimes," I admitted. "I try not to think about it most of the time. I get this…crushing feeling when I do. Like I'm on the verge of suffocating," I explained, motioning towards my chest.

"Tell me 'bout it," he said, his voice sounding a little less sleepy than before - _interested_. He readjusted himself over the thin mattress. I held one of the blankets out to him, motioning for him to put it behind his head. He obliged, shoving it haphazardly between the wall and the bunk, nestling back into the flimsy cloth, staring over at me as he awaited my response.

"It's mostly the little things," I began, trying to pull things from that filing cabinet in my mind I normally kept closed. I didn't think Daryl would judge though. My thoughts and words felt safe with him. "My dad used to cook breakfast in the mornings. Every morning, I'd wake up to the smell of eggs and bacon. It was a beautiful way to grow up." I smiled over at him. He was staring at me intently, taking in every word. "He'd do this thing though, with the eggshells. He'd leave the cracked shells in the carton. Put them right back into the refrigerator if you didn't remind him to throw them away. My mom used to raise hell about it. I miss that," I whispered, recalling the memories now.

"Tell me more," he mumbled, the tiniest hint of a crack filtering into his voice.

"Let's see," I began, thinking long and hard. "My mom used to hum when she swept our porch. Every day, without fail, she'd be out there sweeping and humming. Some sort of hymn or country song. She had a good voice. Nothing that would've held up in Nashville, but it was enough."

"What about you? You sing?"

"Mostly to myself. Used to do it in my room alone, but that's it. What about you? Something you miss about your past?"

"Not much ta say," he mumbled, seeming uncomfortable beneath the shift of conversation from me to him. "Dad was'a drunk. Shot things in tha house from his chair just fer kicks. He'd yell after Mamma. 'Do this. Don't do that. Bring me this.' Stupid shit," he said, his eyes diverting towards the lamp in the corner of the room. "I didn't get no meals in the morning. Mostly I'd wake up and head off into tha woods. Safer there anyway," he said shrugging, like what he'd just said wasn't heart wrenching.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." It was the only thing that I could think to say after what he'd just admitted.

His grip tightened down over my ankle. "Don't go feelin' sorry for me. I didn't say all that for yer sympathy. I just thought we were sharin'…"

"We are," I said, clearing my throat, racing to change the subject. I didn't want him shutting down on me. I liked hearing his voice, the gravelly tone that he kept mostly to himself. "My dad made coffee every morning. He'd make me sit down in front of him, even if I was running late for school, and tell him what I was thankful for. Normally, it was silly shit. Hunting, sunshine, my family. He'd always say, 'Think harder. Tell me something different.' I'd feel like an idiot. But, besides them, I didn't feel like a needed much," I said shrugging. "I miss those talks with him. If I'd known then what was going to happen, I think I would've made more of an effort to think of something else. Something better."

He nodded, his fingers drumming randomly over my leather boots. He paused to fidget with the shoestring that was coming undone. I was so focused on his fingers, it startled me when he began to speak.

"It was always me and Merle," he offered. It seemed like progress – more talking without being prompted – and for the moment, it made me forget about my sadness over the recalled memories. "We were driftin' around from place to place. Not doin' nothin'. Goin' nowhere. He'd say what we were going ta do and we just did it. Just a coupla dumb rednecks pissing away time, gettin' into trouble."

"I don't think you're dumb," I cut in. "Considering the predicament we're all in, college degrees don't mean shit these days. Neither does having money. You've got street smarts. You'll be one of the last ones standing, Daryl." He was quiet, taking in my words, turning them over in his mind. "When all of this is over, it'll be you. All the book-loving, snooty, rich types that turned their noses up at you will be gone."

"And you," he said softly. "You'll be there too." His eyes flickered up to mine, holding my gaze.

"Is that the way you see it?" I asked, both shocked and surprised by his statement. My heart thudded nervously in my chest. It liked the sound of it too.

He nodded. "If ya stop runnin'," he added.

"I've done better on my own. People don't like my wildness, my need to be free, my independence. I think they see it as a risk. A risk they don't want to take."

"I don't see it as a risk. Rick won't either once he knows ya. You'll be helpin' the group. And ya don't have ta be alone to be tha person that ya are."

"I'm alone. Here, I mean. Locked in this cell block, Rick holding my weapon," I explained, ignoring the anger that plagued me when I thought of my situation. "I was just thinking, before you came tonight, that if the walkers got into the prison, I'd have no protection."

"Yer not alone. You've got me. And I wouldn't leave ya down here by yerself."

"Daryl, I'm not stupid. Even if you didn't mean to leave me here, you'd have others to protect. Others that came first." I didn't know how many of them there were yet, but the few I'd seen were enough. And he'd been with them all a while, had admitted that much to me that morning. So, it went without saying that his allegiance was to his group, not to me, not to some stranger he'd just met less than two weeks ago.

"Most of 'em can protect themselves. They've got guns, Sage. Most of 'em have been trained ta use 'em," he said softly, seriously. "I'd come straight here. Same as I did when I got back from tha raid."

The news was new. I hadn't known that. Wouldn't really have considered it at all if he hadn't said so.

"And how would you explain that to all of them? The fact that you abandoned them to help some stranger? Their prisoner?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I don't plan on askin' their permission when tha time comes."

I smiled softly. Appreciation and confusion made a confusing mixture that my gut didn't quite understand. "Thank you."

"If they ask ya ta leave, I'm goin' with ya."

His admission had come out of nowhere, the words shot directly from his lips like they'd been shot from a bow, piercing my heart. "You can't do that," I whispered. "I won't let you. This is the most stability that you've ever had. You just all but admitted that yourself."

"I want ya around. If they can't understand that, I don't see no need in stayin'."

"What if I don't want to stay? What if you don't want to go where I'm heading?"

"Where ya wantin' ta go?"

I hesitated, briefly wondering if I should give myself away before reminding myself that it was Daryl. "Atlanta. The CDC."

He shook his head. "It's gone. Blown to pieces. We were there when it happened. They don't know nothin'. Some fancy doc told us so just before he let himself get blown up inside tha place."

My chest constricted, the knowledge that my plan had been completely foiled in a matter of moments almost crippled me. Beneath the recalled memories of my family and a busted plan that had basically provided me with motivation for months, I felt myself beginning to crumble. Tears stung at the corners of my eyes. I was on the verge of doing something that I hadn't since leaning over my Dad's dead body.

"Don't," he said, pushing my foot off of his chest as he leaned forward. His hands were on either side of my face in an instant, so quickly that I think it surprised even him. "Don't do that."

His thumb swept over my cheeks, the action causing a shiver to slide down my spine. I was surprised that he was touching me at all considering he'd already made known his aversion towards it. But I didn't protest it. Paused to enjoy it, actually. Because in between his palms, I felt a safety that I hadn't felt since my dad had been alive.

"Why is it, Daryl Dixon, that I feel so fucking safe when you're near?"

"Because I wouldn't let anythin' hurt ya."

"Why?" I asked, because I needed to know. I couldn't understand it, couldn't wrap my mind around someone like him fussing over someone like me.

"I don't quite know 'bout that yet."

It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. My overactive, confused heart told me so.


	7. Chapter 7

**I see your views, appreciate your favorites and follows and love your reviews. Reviews = fuel and motivation.**

 **One of you flattered me to no end, saying that it would be hard to watch TWD without Sage after the mid-season break. I love that you love her. I think she's a great counterpart to our Daryl. (And I wish they'd pair him with someone like her too! We all can dream...)**

 **Thanks again a million times over. JWM**

* * *

Somewhere in the darkness of my mind, I heard the sound of an arrow leaving a bow, thudding hard into its target. It was a peaceful thought, registering in my mind as home. There was no safety for me like being behind my bow. I struggled against waking, not wanting to leave my dream and its peaceful sounds.

Another shot sounded, followed closely by another thud. With brow furrowed, I gave into the sunlight, determined to figure out the derivative of the noise. I sat upright, gripping the edge of the bunk as I tried gathering my wits. I'd slept so heavily the night before, so soundly. All because of Daryl.

 _Daryl._ Where was he? My eyes darted into the direction of the corner he'd slept in, the corner that was now empty. The noise sounded again: _shot, thud._ "Daryl?" I called out, clearing the grogginess from my voice, wiping at my eyes before standing and heading towards the opening of the cell.

"Out here," his gravelly voice called back.

I found him, crossbow at shoulder level, aimed squarely at a bale of hay on the other side of the cell block. His finger sat poised over the trigger, eyes narrowed, breath steady, and then a shot and another _thunk_. The tiniest hint of a smile crossed over his face before he turned his attention towards me.

"Yer bow's in the corner," he said, motioning his head in the direction of the gate. "Had Glenn bring it down last night."

I followed the direction of his gaze. "How did you-when did you…" I stuttered, unable to find my verbal footing.

"Told ya. Glenn brought it down last night."

"You let me go on about Rick having my weapon…The whole time…it was right outside the cell…"

He shrugged, something close to a mischievous smile hinting at the corner of his lips.

My heart was so happy, so overjoyed with seeing my bow and what I knew he probably had to do to get it, I charged after him. His crossbow clattered to the ground just seconds before my careless leap into his arms. He caught me with ease, grunting beneath my hug and the legs that wrapped around his midsection. His hands cupped the back of my thighs, holding them around his waist as my weight settled over his hipbones.

I felt the tension emanate from him, the discomfort that my action had brought him. I didn't care. _Couldn't care._ I buried my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, my face notching into the crevice of space where neck meets shoulder, fighting back tears. To hell with his no touching rule. "Thank you. I can't…You don't understand what you've done," I rattled, afraid to lift my head from his neck for fear of him seeing the tears that clouded my eyes.

He cleared his throat, the sound echoing off of the cinderblock walls. "Don't think nothin' of it." His voice was right at my ear, the heat from his breath doing a number on my skin.

"But I do. I think so much of it," I countered, finally pulling my head from his shoulder. The look on his face – so serious, so zeroed in on me, so indecipherable - made me realize the misstep of my actions. I'd acted carelessly, without thought, putting him in an uncomfortable situation – throwing myself at him like I had. Releasing my ankles from their locked position behind him, I untangled them from his waist, planting my feet firmly on the ground. "Thank you," I mumbled, making an effort to move away.

His hands tightened down over the small of my back, fingertips burying into exposed skin, holding me in front of him. "You're welcome."

I felt compelled to say something, to apologize for the weirdness that my moment of spontaneity had injected into the situation. "I'm sorry for my outburst. It was careless," I admitted, unable to move away from him like I knew that I should. "I just can't believe it. I'm so…happy. Because of you."

He grunted, a deep sound coming from his gut, reaching out to me as his face hovered above mine. The tips of his fingers sunk deeper into my back, pressing me towards him, creating an inward friction that had my head spinning.

"Daryl, I'm going to touch you now. Nothing weird, just…" I let my sentence drift off, afraid that if I said too much, he'd pull away. Besides, I wasn't exactly sure what I had planned anyway. I just had a burning desire to prolong our embrace.

My fingers brushed over his cheek, sweeping from the swell of it back towards his ear. I pulled my hand from the side of his face, lifting it upwards towards his black eye. I traced the uneven ring around his eye, fighting hard not to get deterred when he released an uncomfortable sigh, his face contorting into something that matched the sound he'd made.

"I'm making you uncomfortable again, aren't I?" I breathed, the words barely above a whisper.

"I'm fine." His voice came out thin and clipped and strained. "Told ya, I'm just not used ta it."

"But you're _okay_ with me doing it, right?" My heart needed to know more than my head wanted it to. I lifted my fingers from his eye, brushing a strand of his unkempt hair back off of his face. It immediately fell right back into place, something that brought a smile to my face. "Daryl?" I asked, pulling my hand from his face.

One of his hands left my back, clasping over the hand that hung awkwardly in the air between us. He directed it back up to his cheek. "Don't stop," he said behind closed eyelids, so softly I was afraid that I'd heard him wrong.

For a moment, I was unsure as to what to do. I wasn't exactly experienced in this sort of thing, certainly hadn't expected it to go this far when I started. It had been an impulse, a knee-jerk reaction to his kindness. But this – me touching him - was attraction and needing and feeling. This was dangerous.

"I-I think that maybe I should get my bow now."

His eyes popped open, a certain fury brewing beneath them. "So what, ya don't want ta touch me now? You're the one that started it."

"No, Daryl. It's not that. Not that at all," I rushed to say. I could feel him pulling emotionally away from me.

"What is it then?" he asked, eyes narrowed, almost accusing.

"I'm afraid that…" I hesitated, unsure of whether I wanted to give myself away. It all seemed so personal, the moment so heady – things I wasn't used to or prepared for.

"Go on," he said, voice still clipped, demanding.

"Dammit, I'm afraid that if I keep on, I won't be able to stop. And I'm afraid that that will scare you away. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship." The last word sounded like a lie, my eyes wincing too over how belittling it sounded.

He pulled me flush against him, something I was completely ill prepared for. "That what this is?"

"I-yes. I th-think so," I managed, realizing that the bulge that I felt pressing against my stomach was him. Good God, I couldn't think straight. Maybe I'd pressed things too far. Maybe I should've been more careful with my touching, with my urges. But nothing about this life or the life _before_ had prepared me for Daryl Dixon. "What do you want it to be?"

"Nothing," he seethed, his jaws flexing beneath clenched teeth. "It's nothing, Sage."

Now he was the one pulling away with me clawing after him. "Would you just stop? For one minute?"

"No, you said it. _Friends_. That's what we are."

I'd never seen him so angry, heard his voice so lethal or gravelly. I didn't like it. Not one bit. His words and the way that he said them bore down onto me, making me feel guilty and ashamed…and angry. I didn't like that his mood could shift mine, didn't like that my happiness was a direct reflection of him and when he was near me and the things that he said or didn't say, the things that he did or didn't do. This was a complicated mess. A clusterfuck that would be my undoing.

"I didn't mean it like that," I finally said, my own anger rearing its ugly head. Why did he have to pick apart everything that I said? Make _me_ make sense of my own madness?

"Then why don't ya say what ya mean?" he yelled, throwing exasperated hands out to his sides.

"Okay then. How about this?" I offered, stepping forward, giving his chest an unnecessary shove. His hands clamped down over mine, pinning them to his chest, forcing me to say my next statement directly to his face. "You confuse me and scare me and excite me. I worry over your safety. I'm fearful that when you leave, you won't return, and I have no way of changing the outcome. I've never needed anyone. _ANYONE!_ " I yelled, feeling my face darken beneath the heat that was pulsing there. "Now, I'm starting to feel like I do. And that scares me even worse. I don't like being scared. Don't like dealing with things like feelings. It's fucking dangerous! Do and fucking kill and survive - that's what's gotten me this far. Not this….this…fuck! ...Whatever _this_ is," I said, looking down at our clasped hands.

"Sage-" he began, stopping short when I cut him off.

"No, fuck, Daryl. I'm going to say this. You wanted me to, right?"

He nodded, silently relenting, allowing me to continue despite having something to say.

"I want to touch you. All the time. I don't understand that either. It's not something that I felt _before_ ," I spat, feeling my shoulders lighten beneath the purge. I knew that I'd regret it later, but I'd come too far now. Besides, I was so riled up, my anger wouldn't allow it. "Know how many men touched me _before_ the shit hit the fan?"

"Sage-"

"Just guess, Daryl. Give it a fucking shot."

"I don't want ta know," he said slowly, softly. His face was mostly blank, probably more than a little confused by the things that I was saying. He pulled my hands up to his shoulders, my fingers clinging there like I was hanging from a cliff and he, my only lifeline.

"One, that's how many," I said, ignoring his declaration of not wanting to know. "And it was the first and the last time. I haven't longed for it since. And then you come along, all crossbow-y and emotionless and so like me it scares me…Making me feel things. Making me _feel anything._ I don't want to feel anything. It's the only way I don't break down, drop into the downward spiral that's there all the time…waiting on me to crack. Goddamn you, Daryl!"

"I don't _not_ feel things." I tried pulling away from him, his grasp tightening around my midsection. "Sage, just stop. Can we talk about this?"

"No! Because this feels an awful lot like a couple pre-apocalypse, and we _are not_ a couple and I'm pretty fucking sure we're smackdab in the middle of an apocalypse!"

I managed to wiggle out of his grasp, turning away from him immediately after. I think my intention had been to head towards my bow, but my progress was stopped short by two strong arms coming down hard over my shoulders. His arms crashed violently around me, pulling my protesting body back hard against his chest.

I fought against him, fought so hard it brought me to tears. Tears that, once they started, wouldn't stop. I cried for everything that I hadn't since my dad had died, cried in his arms like a baby - him cradling me, whispering things that my ears didn't even hear, just processed as deep, soothing sounds.

In that moment, with tears streaming down both cheeks and my chest crushing beneath the onslaught of emotions, I had a startling realization: Daryl Dixon had found a way into both my head and my heart.

* * *

I don't know at what point he left, but he had. After my meltdown, I'd been too exhausted to even shoot my bow. Instead, I grabbed it up, took it back to my cell and cradled it like it was some comfort blanket that a child used for a sleep aid.

Pathetic. That's what I'd become. Touching and crying and needing anyone other than myself.

It had been hours since Daryl had left, and I was still a pitiful wreck, holed up in my cell. The crying was over, but the lingering emotions remained. I had to get over it. Right this minute. It was time for me to push the memories to the back of my mind, try and look past all of the crazy, emotional things that I'd admitted to Daryl and get my ass in gear.

I took my time sorting through my bolts, scrutinizing each one, checking for cracks or discrepancies. After I was satisfied, I plucked my bow from the bunk and headed out into the cell block, spending the next half hour sailing bolt after bolt into my target from different areas of the block, making sure to test out awkward angles, to shoot while on the run. I wanted to make damned sure that my newly feeble, caring heart hadn't fucked with my skill.

I was almost ready to call it an afternoon when a thundering sound came from above, shaking the entire foundation of the cell block, sending me diving into the nearest cell for protection. I smelled smoke, I realized. Lots of it. I saw it too, pluming from left to right, heading in the direction of the main gate. Resurfacing, trying to assess the damage and what had caused it, I realized that one entire end of the cell block had been blown open, the open skies exposing itself to me.

"What in the hell?" I muttered, my senses kicking in.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good. There wasn't a herd of walkers on the planet capable of this. No, this had been people. Another group probably. Possibly the ones that had given Daryl the black eye. The thought angered me, thrusting me into action.

I scaled the stairs, taking three and four at a time, heading in the direction of my cell. I grabbed Daryl's bag that he'd left behind, obviously with the intentions of returning later, and shoved the blankets and the lantern inside. I slung it over my shoulder, did the same with my quiver and charged towards the freshly blown opening.

Excitement shouldn't have been infiltrating my body, but it was. I was free. Free to run and figure things out and kill if I needed to. Free to use my weapon. My body was on fire, alive from all of the adrenaline. I ran around the side of the building, storming towards the noises. Walkers were everywhere, biting unfortunate humans that I didn't recognize, clawing into the screaming flesh. I couldn't help myself from looking at each one, making sure it wasn't him. I grabbed a bolt from my quiver, readying myself for a fight.

I jogged past a small group of walkers, jumping onto a nearby pickup to avoid the approaching mass. Pulling my bolt free of my bow, I stabbed a few in the head, feeling devilishly happy as they fell to the ground, getting trampled on by their dead counterparts. Realizing that my efforts were useless, I scanned the area, subconsciously looking for Daryl again. It was pointless, I knew that. There were hundreds of walkers, all of them obstructing any possibility I would have of a Daryl sighting. I hoped to God he didn't return to the cell block like he'd said. Or maybe he should've. It might've been a safer option than wading through this mess.

"Fuck," I muttered, seeing the tree line in the far distance. I knew I had to make it there if I wanted any chance of survival. And I wanted to survive. I just wanted a certain someone to survive also. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" I screamed.

"You always cuss when you're surrounded by walkers?"

 _Maggie._ I looked up at her and smiled. I fucking smiled! Who smiled at a time like this? Me! That's who.

She was squatted down on a ledge that hovered above me, gun in hand. "Sometimes," I called. There was a pause, something like a truce passing between us before the door behind her pushed open, a walker stumbling forward. Without thinking, without hesitation, I lifted my bow and put a bolt through his head. She looked behind her, assessed what I'd just done, then sent a smile in my direction. "Come on!" I called after her, pointing to the top of the truck, signaling for her to jump. Who knew how many would follow that one? I had no plans of sticking around to find out.

She pulled the bolt from the walkers head, jumping afterwards without hesitation, handing the arrow to me. She mumbled something that sounded like a 'thanks' before turning to put bullets into the walkers' heads at the front of the truck. We both took the newly formed gap as our opportunity, jumping down off of the hood, stepping over mushy bodies and into the chaos.

"If we get separated," she screamed, reloading her gun as we ran, "meet me on the other side of the pond. It's that way. I've got to find Glenn."

I pulled the bolt from the walker's head that I'd just killed, following the direction of her extended arm. I'd be there when it was all over, but I wasn't leaving her side. She could fight, that much I could tell, and against a herd this big, the more people the better.

We fought our way through a throng of the walkers, eliminating them one-by-one, oftentimes our backs towards each other, screaming warnings to each other when needed. Thank God I'd thought to start an exercise routine when I had. "You know where he's at?"

"No, but I'm hoping he's by the getaway bus."

Two walkers came at me. "Shit," I mumbled. They were too close for me to draw my bow. I felt hard metal being pressed into my hand, my mind recognizing the feel of a knife. I'd skinned way too many deer for it not to feel comfortable in my hand. I plunged the knife into both of their skulls, first the one, then the other. "Fuckers." My side looked good for the moment, my attention turning towards Maggie. Hers did too.

"Come on. This way," she called over her shoulder.

The path that led us to the bus was fairly clear, just a few walkers that had somehow strayed from the herd. We took care of them quickly, with ease, jogging towards our destination. "Maggie!" someone called from above.

"Glenn!" she stopped short, her head jerking upwards to the man that hovered above us.

He extended his hand out towards her, fingers splayed out in a 'stop' signal. "Meet me at the pond. Like we discussed."

"I'm coming to get you. We'll go together."

"Maggie, don't argue with me!"

I shot a walker that had Maggie in its sights, jogging forward to pull my bolt from its head. I turned to find both of their faces on me. "We gonna wrap this love session up?" I asked, half-joking, half-serious. "This place is crawling with dead people."

"The pond," Glenn repeated, turning to head back inside the building.

"Let's go," I said, rousing her from her thoughts. She looked defeated now that she didn't have a purpose. She certainly hadn't anticipated him sending her in the opposite direction. "Maggie, he'll be there," I said, hoping like hell for her sake that it was the truth.

She finally gave a nod, readjusting her wits, this time with me leading the way. There was a portion of the fence that had been mowed down. I saw the tank in the center of an open field, my assumptions being that it had been the culprit. I didn't have time to think it through, the field was just as overrun by walkers as the prison.

"Maggie, stay with me. Okay?" I knew her nerves were shot, her mind back at the prison with Glenn. If I thought about it too much, my mind would be somewhere with Daryl. But I couldn't. Absolutely, one hundred percent, could not let my mind go there right now. "Nothing's going to happen to Glenn or us."

She nodded again, a walker grabbing after her. She sunk a knife into his head with ease. At least she wasn't too far gone that she'd lost her fighting skills. We ran across the fallen chain-link, crossing over a bridge, headed in the direction of the tree line. It was right there, in my sight, when I heard a female voice call out. Both of us turned in the woman's direction, seeing a group of about ten walkers in hot pursuit.

"Shit, Carol," Maggie mumbled. "We have to help her."

I nodded. There wasn't a thought that had crossed my mind that was of the contrary. Letting people get eaten by these pieces of shit wasn't an option. Even if the said person wasn't a fan of mine. "Let's flank either side. You head left and I'll take the right. We should be able to take them out before they notice. As long as Carol doesn't give up beforehand."

"She won't. Not with Daryl still-" she began, stopping herself short.

I squashed a growl, already headed towards them. I'd sort out my jealousy later. Right now I had business to take care of.

We ascended upon them precisely as planned, taking out the bulk of them before they were even aware of us. Carol held her own, taking out two of them with a knife. I plunged my borrowed knife into one of the remaining walker's skull. Just because I hated them so much, I shot a bolt into one that seemed aimed at some target unknown, limping aimlessly in the opposite direction. Maggie flashed a smile at me, moving to retrieve the arrow because she was closer.

We scooted into the tree line, glad when we didn't see any lingering walkers for the moment. Most of them were being drawn to all of the noise happening close to the prison. I found myself staring back towards the prison, searching, hoping to see that familiar face. Carol stood close by, doing the same thing, I realized. The thought made my blood boil.

"He's fine. They'll all be fine," Maggie said from somewhere behind me.

Carol and I shared a brief glance. Maybe there was a thank you in there somewhere, but I wasn't sure. I didn't know her well enough to detect it. She very possibly could've been sizing me up too, wondering also why I'd expended energy trying to save her. Whatever my motives, I'd done the right thing. I didn't feel a single ounce of regret. Daryl would've wanted me to save her, so I had.

Maggie handed me an opened bottle of water. I accepted it, turning it up, taking a few much needed pulls. I offered it to Carol, her eyes hesitating over my extended hand, before she took it.

"I hate this. The waiting," Maggie mumbled, pacing anxiously.

"Daryl will be in that cell block, looking for you," Carol noted, tiny bits of anger clouding her words.

If she'd meant to apologize before, all traces of her gratitude were gone now. She looked downright angry, that anger pointed directly at me.

"Maybe not," Maggie cut in, shaking her head, still working to catch her breath.

"You're a distraction. It's going to get him killed. Rick should've never let him bring you back to the prison."

I narrowed my eyes harshly. The nerve of her at a time like this. It was appalling. I literally wanted to squeeze her frustrating head in between my angry hands. "And you're different how?"

She crossed hardened arms over her chest, shaking her head back-and-forth. "He doesn't spend his nights in my cell."

"He was ordered to," I defended, making sure she understood the level of my frustration.

"He wasn't last night," she countered.

 _Jesus Christ._ Was she some kind of crazy stalker? We were supposed to be relishing in the fact that we'd lived, survived another attack, but instead, we were here being catty. This was the most asinine conversation that I'd ever been a part of. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"You talk like him too. How convenient."

She had to be verging on fifty and here we were, arguing like teenagers over a man we weren't even sure was still alive. The thought caused a shiver to splinter down my spine. I couldn't think like that.

"Shut-up. The both of you," Maggie said, stepping in. "None of this is helping anyone."

My gaze shifted towards Maggie, then back to Carol. Maggie was holding firm, Carol sulking. I lifted surrendering hands out in front of me. Maggie was right. This wasn't the time nor the place for this type of argument.

I stalked off in the opposite direction, afraid I might not be able to hold my tongue. I wouldn't wander too far, but I sure as hell wasn't going to be stuck in the presence of Carol and her negative opinions of me. I'd spent my whole life dealing with opinions like hers. I'd be damned if I would expose myself to it when I didn't have to.

"Sage," Maggie called after me.

I lifted my hand in the air, halting further comment. "I'm just going over here," I called out, getting there as quickly as my legs could carry me.


	8. Chapter 8

We'd been waiting for hours, killing walkers as they came, laying low. Carol had been the one to suggest our movement away from the designated meeting place. The noises coming from the prison had diminished. The walkers would be getting restless now, heading in different directions based upon the noises of the afternoon. Any and all dead persons were eaten and those that were going to escape, had.

My heart had dropped the further the sun had in the sky. It was now tangled uncomfortably with my stomach, both of them in painful knots, wound up tightly. If I thought hard enough about Daryl's death, I'd throw up. I couldn't think about it. Not now.

"We need to put some distance in between ourselves and the prison. Make a camp for the night, start a fire," Carol suggested.

I gauged Maggie's reaction, could see her forthcoming protest before she even opened her mouth. "I'm not leaving Glenn. I promised him…" she trailed off, tears glossing her eyes over. "I promised," she repeated, choking the words out the second time around.

I knew her pain, understood the desire to stay even when you knew you shouldn't. It'd been that way with my dad, and it was that way now. "She's right," I said, pushing my body off of the tree I'd been leaning against. "We should move. There were a lot of walkers at the prison. I don't want them happening upon us during the night. There will be too many for the three of us to hold off."

"Any thoughts on food?" Carol asked.

I realized that she was speaking directly to me. Funny she'd look to me for suggestions when clearly I was the burden that would lead death right to your door. "I've got a knapsack in a tree not far from here. There's not a whole lot, but there are some berries and jerky that might still be good. It should be enough to hold us over."

They both turned to look at me, Maggie staring numbly, Carol suspiciously. "You have a bag. In a tree. Were you planning on running?"

 _Yes, I was at one point._ She didn't need to know that though. "I was hunting when they found me. I'd tied it in a tree that morning. It's where I slept. Didn't exactly have a choice of returning once I was taken prisoner."

Our conversation seemed to have lulled Maggie out of her daze. At least for the moment. "We'll head for the bag and hope it's still there. Got anything else we should know about?" she asked, scratching at some dried blood on her face.

I shrugged. "A bottle of water, some extra bolts, a knife and a gun. The gun doesn't have any bullets," I explained. I'd used the last of them on a particularly rowdy bunch of walkers a day before my capture.

"We shouldn't trust her. She could use the gun to kill us both," Carol warned.

"I'm standing right here," I said sarcastically, giving an exasperated wave as I said the words.

"If she had wanted to kill us, she would've. She helped me fight my way to Glenn and she saved your ass earlier. She knows how to use the bow," Maggie said, jerking her head in my bow's general direction. "She'd have put an arrow right between your eyes if she wanted to."

Maggie's comment seemed to shut Carol up. At least for the moment. I figured with the basics ironed out, we were free to proceed. If Daryl had any intention of showing up here, he would've already. He must've gotten holed up protecting someone. I refused to believe that he was gone.

We walked the distance back towards my bag, the sun setting making the travel harder than it should've been. Well, that and my physical health. My legs had sprinted on flat surfaces, the stairs acting as my only incline over the past week, so my muscles ached a little more than normal. I tried to fight past the nagging pain that plagued both my joints and my weary heart.

My feelings and the distraction that they posed, were precisely why it wasn't a good idea to feel anything for anybody in a time like this. I'd been able to fight, but to say that it hadn't impeded my progress through the prison, in helping others, would be a lie. I'd paused too often, scanned entirely too much.

"What was Daryl doing last night? In your cell block?"

I'd been so entirely caught up in thoughts of the man she was referencing, I hadn't heard her approach. Another bad sign. If she had been a walker, I would've been dead. And she would've gladly let them kill me.

"He was bringing me a light and some blankets. He'd noticed that no one had thought to give them to me in the first place," I explained, skirting around the truth but not exactly lying either. I hoped she caught the added sprinkle of sarcasm that I'd thrown in for spite.

"And your bow. How'd you get that?" she pressed on.

I wasn't sure why I was honoring her with responses. It wasn't like she deserved them. Maybe so Daryl could remain in good graces with the group? I didn't want people upset with him for breaking the rules. "Daryl and Glenn," I answered, shifting my gaze towards Maggie. She didn't seem surprised. Obviously she'd known about it. "They brought it to me last night."

"And thank God," Maggie muttered, hopping over a large tree root that obstructed her path. "I'm not sure I would've made it out of the prison without her help."

At least someone was on my side.

"And he stayed there? All night?"

"Are we playing twenty questions?" I countered, growing more irritated by the second with her and all the grilling. "Or were you some kind of detective prior to the apocalypse and you're just exercising some burning desire to interrogate someone because you no longer can?"

"Please, stop. The both of you," Maggie attempted to cut in.

"I'm the one who is being questioned here, Maggie. Not the other way around. I'd be perfectly fine without all of the questions."

"Carol, please, save your questions for Daryl. He's the one you're closest to." I didn't appreciate Maggie's reasoning, but because she was at least semi-taking up for me, I didn't butt in. "If he feels the need to answer you, then he will."

"You know he won't," she said, her words barely above a whisper. "He hasn't spoken to me since…"

There was a moment that passed between the two, some unspoken conversation being had right before my eyes. I wasn't a complete idiot. I knew that this supposed rift between Carol and Daryl was being blamed on me, even if it wasn't the truth.

Maggie sighed, it was long and drawn out and loud enough to have me cutting my eyes in her direction. "I'm sure that once we meet up, all will be forgiven."

I glanced over at Carol. Her face showed indication that she didn't exactly feel like that were the case. "There it is. Up ahead," I said, pointing towards a tree about fifty yards to our left. I was glad that we'd reached the end to our little journey. Glad too to have something to focus on other than Daryl and Carol's intrusive questioning. "I'll run up and get it. You guys scout the area for a feasible camp site." There was an agreeing nod from them both as I set my sights on my bag.

A half hour after the fact, we were as full as we would be for the night, having divvied out the few rations that I had. Most of the berries were rotten, but Maggie'd found a few to replace the ones that I'd had to throw out. Between that and the jerky, we were, at the very least, not famished. I'd already promised to hunt the moment the sun came up.

Carol had started the fire, the three of us hovering around it, our backs to one another in an attempt to see approaching walkers before they saw us. We'd been that way since the sun had gone down. Maybe a few hours. I think we were all deep in thought, our minds back at the prison with the people we may or may not have lost.

"Did you hear that?" Maggie whispered, her voice causing my ears to perk up.

I strained to hear what she might've, leaning forward, restless elbows digging into my thighs before I thought better of it and reached for my bow. A few minutes later, I thought I heard it too. "Shhh…" I instructed, just in case someone got the idea in their head to speak.

More rustling, the sound coming from Maggie's direction. I shifted around on my rear, aiming my bow into the darkness, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. "Maggie, is that you?" a voice called out to us. Glenn appeared out of the darkness, blood and guts smattered across his face.

"Oh Glenn," she squealed, already in tears as she ran towards him, their bodies colliding forcefully somewhere in the middle. They embraced, touching each other as if they couldn't believe the idea of being reunited, alive and unscathed.

Carol stood, an emotional hand over her mouth, questions in her eyes. Glenn must've seen her from the distance. His face was pained, unsure, as he shook his head back and forth. "Last I saw, Rick and Carl and Michonne were together. Daryl was with Beth."

Maggie released a gasp, backing out of Glenn's grasp. "She'll be okay then. If she's with Daryl."

Glenn nodded, certain too of her statement. "I'm sure they made it out okay," he added, giving her back a reassuring pat, pulling her back into his side.

"It's bad isn't it?" Maggie asked, looking to Glenn for the answer.

He nodded. "We lost a lot of good people," he agreed, a sadness sweeping across his face, "Your father included." Maggie fell into another round of tears.

I sucked in sharply, unsure of what to say. Hershel had died? It didn't seem fathomable. He'd nursed my wounds, been responsible for mending so many things. He'd patched Daryl up the day prior. My heart bled for Maggie over her loss. And for the rest of the people around the campfire, the heaviness of their hearts just as apparent.

"I'll take the first watch," I offered, feeling like maybe they needed the time to mourn. I had cared for Hershel in the way that knowing him for only a week had allowed me to. But not like them. And no one could understand the pain of losing a father quite like me. "I'll scan the perimeter. We'll do hour-long shifts. That way, unless all hell breaks loose, we should all get at least three hours of sleep apiece."

They all seemed okay with my plan, Glenn and Maggie nodding, Carol turning her nose up like I didn't exist. I assumed that no protest from her was basically like an agreement. I set off in the opposite direction to start my watch, hoping I'd somehow, by some grand miracle, stumble upon the blue eyes that plagued my thoughts.

* * *

The night had been long, but with next to no issues, just the occasional walkers on each of our shifts. I hadn't slept during Carol's. Thankfully, hers had been last. I wasn't certain that my safety could be trusted in her hands. The sun was coming up by the time she returned, my cue to head out on my hunt. I, again, was thankful to have something to do that would take my mind off of its turbulent thoughts.

As I set off into the woods, I recalled the dream that I'd had. It was of my dad and Daryl, walking shoulder-to-shoulder along the bank of a creek that ran through our property. I'd stood there, fifty yards away or so, watching two people that I cared about in deep discussion.

My heart had felt full, my life _fulfilled._ Daryl said something to my father, his face turning towards him, the sun glinting off of his tan skin. He squinted, shooting me the tiniest of grins from across the way. I smiled back, waving as I watched in horror as both of their forms disappeared into nothingness.

I'd stirred awake with a jolt, my heavy breathing earning a sideways glance from Glenn. He'd gone right back to sleep once I reassured him that I was okay.

I let the memory of the dream fade into the back of my mind, settling my thoughts on the hunt. My stomach growled into the silence, catching me off guard, making me jump. I needed to get a grip on my fear if I had any desire to eat.

I heard the subtle signs of rustling, leaves scurrying like something was running over it. It wouldn't be a walker. There was more of a step-slash-drag sound that came along with them. I listened for the sound again, heading swiftly in the right direction once I heard it again.

I reached a small clearing, a large rabbit hopping leisurely over the grassy ground. I readied myself for the kill, seconds away from releasing my bolt when a deer stepped into the clearing, just across the way. I couldn't believe it.

I paused to assess the situation. Of course, I wanted the deer, it would go a lot further than the rabbit, but it was too far, the distance possibly too great to get a clean shot. My odds were better if I stuck with the rabbit. Just to be sure, I waited for the deer a little longer, hoping that maybe he'd step further into the clearing. He didn't. His subtle movements doing little more than making the rabbit nervous. If I wanted to ensure breakfast for both myself and the others, I needed to take the shot.

I pulled back, inhaling a deep breath, holding my entire body still before releasing. The rabbit toppled over onto its side. A clean shot. Somewhere in the distance there was another noise, something that had startled the deer. I readied my bow for a walker, surprised to see the deer charging past, another's arrow in its side.

"Sage," a female voice called from behind me.

I recognized it as Carol, stepping out into the clearing, ignoring her as I searched for the other archer. My heart lodged in my throat as he came into view. The familiar walk, the shaggy hair, the unmistakable leather vest walking my way. He approached slowly, cautiously, his eyes narrowed as he tried to work out the situation in his mind.

Everything inside of me wanted to run to him, to throw myself at him like I had in the cell block the day prior, but I refrained. I didn't think he'd appreciate me making a scene in front of Carol.

"Daryl," Carol shrieked, her voice a high-pitched sound into the silence.

My head spun back towards her, the shrills tumbling from her lips indecipherable, reminding me of the cheerleaders at my high school from years ago, cheering on their star quarterback. This was way more than a crush, certainly on her end anyway.

Daryl's free hand went up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. "Carol? Sage? That you?" he asked, continuing his approach.

I nodded. An idiotic thing to do considering he was still a fairly good distance away. Carol responded for the both of us though, eliminating my need to. "Yes, it's us. It's _me_ , Daryl." Her correction didn't go unnoticed.

He ran to us, literally threw his crossbow over his shoulder and charged in our direction, hair flying every which way. He slowed only when he was about the same distance from both of us, the three of us creating some warped triangle of awkwardness. It was like Daryl didn't know what to do. I don't know what I expected from him, but I know what I expected of myself – for something like this not to matter, for it not to hurt like it did. I eliminated his choice, turning and heading towards my kill, plucking it from the ground, taking my time as I dusted it off.

Pulling the knapsack from my back, I pretended not to watch as Carol ran to him, their arms embracing one another. The rabbit was forcefully shoved into the bag, my anger doing a good job of not exercising the care with the carcass that I normally would've.

I needed to look for the deer. It would give me something else to do, something that didn't leave me staring them both down, bearing witness to their reunion.

"Carol, back ta the camp. Sage and I will track tha deer."

"No, I got it, Daryl. Don't you worry about me." I sent the scathing remark in their general direction, not even bothering to give them a backwards glance. The tears in my eyes were my own unfortunate circumstance, a circumstance that I had next to no desire of sharing with either one of them. "Done this a million times before. _Alone_."

I hadn't made it ten yards into the woods, walking in the general direction that I'd seen the deer run, when heavy footsteps sounded off behind me. I knew it was him before he even spoke. "Daryl, I said I got it," I said angrily, jealous nostrils flaring as I finally turned to look at him. He looked hurt, confused, his face making me feel downright guilty. _Well, fuck._ So much for my plan to appear unaffected.

"I spend all night searching fer ya, lose one o'our own in tha process, and this is how ya act when we finally see one 'nother?"

I didn't like hearing that he'd lost someone. She'd seemed important to Maggie the night before. _Beth was it?_ I couldn't quite remember, the events foggy, but I didn't know her enough to mourn her in the moment. "We're going to lose the trail," I said finally, again fighting the urge to run to him. But my brain just wouldn't let me forget the vision of the two of them embracing. It was practically seared into my mind.

"That what ya want ta talk about."

"Quite frankly, I don't want to talk about anything. Not after that fucking reunion back there," I said, pointing a frustrated finger back at the clearing. I hadn't even meant to bring it up. It exposed my emotions, made me seem week. I was harder than this, tougher.

"Ya wouldn't even look at me. She came at me. What was I supposed ta do?" he yelled, sinking a finger into his chest.

"God, this is so stupid," I said, exasperated, plunging my fingers into my eyes, trying to work the tiredness out of them. "Me even being upset over this. Over you and her. This is exactly why-" I stopped short when he moved towards me, his face determined. "What're you doing?" I asked, taking hesitant steps away from him.

"What I shoulda the minute I knew it was you."

He closed the space between us in two quick strides, his hands moving up to my hair, cradling my head, smashing it into his chest. Beneath the dark leather, his heart was beating a million miles an hour. I hesitated before reciprocating, the realization that I could've lost him finally hitting me full-on. My arms slipped around his waist, pulling him towards me with a fierceness that I didn't know I possessed. His body trembled, his breath coming out in haphazard spurts.

We rocked clumsily, my feet shifting over the forest floor after his, like we were doing some fucked up version of the tango. His back hit a tree, our bodies sliding down the base of it. I don't know how we managed, but I ended up on his lap, cradled in his arms. Heavy breathing still wracked his lungs as he buried his head in my hair.

"I fuckin' thought I lost ya," he mumbled, running one of his hands over my braid, the other squeezing me tight against him. "I fuckin'…I can't…lose…ya."

His words pricked over my sensitive heart, my sentiments towards him the same. I brought my hands up to cradle his face, pulling our foreheads together. "Then don't."

"You'll stay with us?"

"With you," I corrected. "As long as this world allows me to," I confirmed, rubbing my thumbs over the sweat trickling down his cheeks, appreciating the small smile when it came into view.

"You'll not leave my sight. Ya hear me?" he said, shaking me within his grasp. "Not even if ya beg me."

I was seconds away from asking him if I could touch him, the moment seeming ripe for some deeper familiarization, but the sounds of approaching walkers had us struggling to our feet.

"Let's find that deer. We'll continue this later," I suggested, eager to rid ourselves of the walkers. I wasn't in the mood to fight. My heart was too full.


	9. Chapter 9

We'd found the deer, skinned it and had lunch, portioning out the remains amongst the group so no one had too much weight on their shoulders. After that, we moved, gauging the sun in an effort to estimate the amount of daylight that still remained. Skinning and cooking the deer had taken up most of the morning, but I'd enjoyed it because it gave me an opportunity to show off my skills to Daryl. He was surprisingly verbal with his praise, making me foolishly happy, and earning some ribbing from Glenn. Daryl didn't seem to mind.

The group was fairly knowledgeable about their surroundings, having been in the area for quite some time before finally coming to the prison. We happened upon a neighborhood, agreeing that we'd clear out one of the bigger houses. All of us beneath the same roof sounded safer. I think most of us were afraid of losing anyone.

With our numbers strong, it took next to no effort to clear out the house. The men took the walkers we'd killed and used them as the beginnings of our fire. I sat outside, skinning and cleaning the rabbit as Daryl and Glenn fell into friendly conversation. The sight made me wonder how I'd ever wanted to be alone. It was crazy to think that'd been my only desire not too long ago. Now, I couldn't picture myself without one of them, and a few of the others were growing on me.

"How're you holding up?" Maggie asked, coming up behind me.

I hesitated, remnants of the rabbit dangling oddly between my legs. "I should be asking you the same thing."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough," I responded, nodding. It was her sorrow, her loss, she was entitled to her silence. That too I could understand better than most. "I lost my dad too. Just so you know. If you ever want to talk."

She nodded before standing, sending me an appreciative smile, patting my shoulder as she walked by. She threw her arms freely around Glenn, the two sharing deliriously happy glances. I watched on happily, wondering if that would ever be me, not realizing that Daryl's eyes were on me. When I did, I returned to my rabbit duties, trying to ignore the fact that I'd been wondering what that would be like for the two of us.

An hour later, we all sat around the living room with full plates. It was weird having a moment like this, almost normal, considering the world around us. And rare. I suspected that a lot of people didn't have this. Again, I was thankful to be with them.

"Alright, what're the sleeping arrangements?" Maggie called, stretching as she stood. Glenn eyeballed the patch of skin that presented itself as a result of her extended limbs.

"How about the two of you in the master. I'll sleep down here," I offered, thinking that they'd probably appreciate some private time. They looked seconds away from having private time right in front of us all anyway.

"Me too," both Daryl and Carol said at the same time.

"Nah, ya take the bed, Carol," Daryl encouraged, shooting her a thin-lipped smile. "I sleep better on a couch."

"Who said anything about you taking the couch?" I joked, ignoring the death-by-mean-glare that Carol shot in my direction.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Maggie said, giggling like a thirteen year old as she pulled Glenn towards the steps.

Carol stood reluctantly, eyeing Daryl, then me. "You sure you don't want the bed?" She aimed the question towards Daryl. Heaven forbid she offer me something so nice. "It might be good for you to get a good sleep."

"I'm fine, Carol. Stop yer worryin'. Sage'll take care of me," he said, shooting a hint of a smile in my direction. I wrinkled my nose up at him, shaking my head back-and-forth as if to say 'not a chance in hell'. It was a lousy attempt at a joke that couldn't be further from the truth.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she mumbled, bending down over him to pull him into an embrace. His limbs extended awkwardly before moving up to pat her on the back. "Sleep well," she said, going so far as to place a kiss on the top of his head.

I waited until I was certain she was out of earshot before speaking. "I can already tell that the two of us are going to be fast friends." It was another joke. Correction, another _bad_ joke. "Anyway, I'm going to check the boards again, make sure all the bases are covered. Then I'm going to get some sleep," I said, pulling myself up off the floor. He grabbed my wrist, stopping my attempt to leave the room.

"I'll take care of it. Go. Lay down," he instructed, nodding his head in the direction of the couch. He stood from the chair he'd drug in from the dining room table, looking over at me, awaiting my response.

I eyed the couch, my body feeling weak beneath the sight, like it was pleading for me to take him up on the offer. "If you promise me you won't sleep on the floor." He didn't respond, just stood there with one of his signature, unreadable looks on his face. "Daryl…"

He grunted, narrowing his eyes mischievously. I was pretty sure Mr. Dixon had found a sense of humor since I'd met him. "Promise," he finally mumbled.

I dropped heavily onto the couch, my eyelids barely closed before I fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

I jerked awake sometime in the middle of the night. I'd had the same dream as the night before, and the disappearing act that two of my favorite people did at the end of it was more than a little disturbing. I peered around the room in search of Daryl, alarm wracking through me when I didn't immediately find him.

I rolled over onto my side, rolling onto a lump in the process. I looked down, finding his hand resting soundly over the edge, my side now pressing down fully over it. The sight warmed my heart. But I didn't look past the fact that he'd lied about not sleeping on the floor.

 _The lying asshole_. The thought came with a smile. I peeped over the edge of the couch. _The incredibly alluring, lying asshole._ He looked so peaceful laying there, his crossbow beside him, the other hand draped comfortably over his chest. He was free of worry, of responsibility, of consequence.

I hadn't intended on doing it, not at first anyway, but I found myself reaching out to touch his face. My fingers drifted over his eyebrows, smoothing down the wayward hairs, enjoying the way the coarseness of it felt beneath my fingertips. My hand took a leisurely dip towards his neck, running over the place where his Adam's apple would've been had he had a prominent one. I traveled further south, playing with the collar of his shirt, tracing the 'v' of exposed skin beneath the open buttons.

My eyes went back up to his face, startled to find his own wide open. "I didn't know you were awake. You didn't say anything…Or move…Or breathe…"

"Didn't know I was supposed ta," he said, my ears appreciating the gruffness of his voice.

"I mean, you're not really. Just normally do," I said shrugging. "The whole, not touching thing," I added.

"How 'bout we forget about that rule?"

I gauged his face for seriousness, wondering if his words were merely part of his newfound humor. It wasn't. Or, at least, it didn't seem to be. "We can do that." My hand searched for his, tugging on it. "How about we start small," I suggested.

One of the eyebrows that I'd just smoothed down, lifted in question. "Whadya have in mind?"

"Well, for starters, you can get up here on the couch…with me." He didn't move, didn't blink. Hell, I wasn't even sure that he was still breathing. "Daryl, you promised you wouldn't sleep on the floor," I said, playing my Ace-in-the-hole.

He eyed me, uncertainty plaguing the features that I had grown to appreciate. When he opened his mouth to speak, I absolutely knew that he meant to decline and I'd spend the rest of the night ashamed at even suggesting it. "Alright," he said instead, rising stiffly from the floor.

"Alright?" I asked, my surprise finding its way into the question.

He nodded, eyes growing serious. He laid his body next to mine, the both of us working to get comfortable. The couch was a fairly good size, deeper than some but still with its limitations. I wasn't upset by the difficulty it presented. Far from it, actually. A bed would've given him space to run, something I definitely didn't want him to do. I wanted him as close to me as possible.

His arm ended up beneath me, my head resting in the crook of it, his hand draped down comfortably over my back. The other hand had made its way back to his chest. From my vantage point, I could feel the beating of his heart through the side of his ribcage. Beneath the delicious warmth of his body and the methodical, comforting sound of his heartbeat, I was very quickly being lulled to sleep.

"Sage, look at me." His deep voice cut into the darkness, the words sounding out through the growl that came standard when he spoke.

A sensation that I didn't recognize zipped through my body, making me hot all over. It was like a shot of embarrassment but with an increased heartrate, tingling limbs and something prodding at the space between my thighs. I squeezed them together, trying to squash out the foreign feeling.

His fingers fumbled at my chin, steering my face up to his. Thank God I was laying down because the look on his face would've surely brought me to my knees otherwise. "Daryl, is something wrong?"

He shook his head 'no', pausing briefly like he felt embarrassed over what he meant to do. And just as quickly as the embarrassment was there, it was gone. "I like tha way ya say my name, Sage."

"I'm glad you like it," I said, gulping heavily, trying to replenish the saliva that had all but disappeared. "Want me to say it again?"

His eyes closed slowly, again shaking his head 'no', before reopening them. "I like tha way yer not afraid to ask me questions. And ya don't get mad if I don't answer. Sometimes, I don't know what ta say. I know it makes me look like a dumb hick."

"Daryl, you don't have to explain. I like the way you are. Stop saying things like that about yourself," I said, scooting myself up closer to his face, bringing my hand up to rest over the side of his cheek. I liked the way his stubble felt beneath my palm. I took a moment to trace my thumb over the wiry hairs, their length uneven exactly like his hair.

He peered down at me, his eyes intense, adding a density to the moment. The uncomfortable tug I felt between my thighs had extended itself to my stomach, an unfamiliar pooling of something now formed in the pit of it. It was the strangest of things, the fact that I felt internally pulled in two opposite directions. I wanted in degrees that I couldn't understand, yet was grossly scared by it. I needed him close to me, touching me, arousing me, but I wanted to push him away.

"Daryl, I want you to kiss me." It was clear what side of the struggle had won.

He eyed me long and hard, like he wasn't sure that he'd just heard what he had. My thumb slid over his beard again, messaging the skin beneath, liking the sandpapery sound that it made. As if the action had given him some sort of motivation, he shifted over to his side, his face inches from mine.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," I whispered, barely able to hear my own voice above the beating of my heart.

"Naw, I want ta," he murmured, shaking his head back and forth, his lips so close that they almost grazed over mine with just the action. "I'm gonna," he amended. "Just haven't done it in a while."

"Me either," I whispered, both in an attempt to reassure him and myself.

His arm tightened around me, pulling me both closer to his side and higher towards his face. My fingers left the comfort of his beard, snaking their way to his neck, sinking into the dark hair at the nape of it. I'd been waiting for this moment, I realized, for quite some time. He closed what little bit of space separated my waiting lips from his, brushing over them softly. The action, as light as a feather, was like a wrecking ball crashing into my heart, lighting fire to the feelings both in the pit of my stomach and between my thighs.

Both hands found the base of his skull, gripping it, pulling him closer – pulling his _mouth_ closer. His lips covered my bottom one, tugging the sensitive skin into the confines of his warm mouth. A moan came flying out of my mouth and into his. My hips jolted forward, pressing against his front. His hands gripped my hips, forcing me against him again. I felt his hardness against my belly, the firm rod that our touching had created.

I felt ready to burst into flames.

He stopped suddenly, errant, hiccupping breaths heating the air between us. He rested his forehead over mine. "Don't do that. Tha sound ya made. You'll make things hard fer me." I knew he was referencing both the obvious and the implied.

"This is already hard, Daryl."

I didn't want it to end. My body was alive against his, _powerful_. I wanted. _Needed_. My mouth was back on his, mirroring his methods from before, taking my time with each lip. My tongue darted out, tracing his lips, first the top, then the bottom. Our bodies bucking against one another, pushing and pulling. Grinding hips and clawing hands, frenzied actions that silently spoke of our inward desires.

I created enough space between us to slide one of my hands beneath his shirt, messaging his abdomen, feeling the wiry hair that circled his bellybutton. He sucked in sharply, pulling our bodies apart.

"I lied. Before. About tha women."

My hand stilled. "I know," I whispered, staring up at him, tracing the trail of hair on his abdomen until I couldn't any more. "And I don't care. None of that matters."

"I mean, I've been with a lot o'women, but not a lot, _lot._ And none like you. Most of 'em were-"

"Daryl, please don't. I don't want to know," I admitted. I _didn't_ want to know. Just the idea of him touching someone else sent my insecurities into overdrive. Thinking of his intense eyes on another's naked body, of someone else bringing him to orgasm, giving him the euphoric feeling that I wanted to…I shook my head. I couldn't go there.

"None of 'em mattered like ya do. Like this does…" There seemed to be more that he wanted to say, but he didn't. He nuzzled my cheek with his nose instead, his beard scratching over the skin. "What ya said in tha cell…about startin' and not bein' able ta stop…"

I nodded, understanding his implications. We might be in an apocalypse, but we were still human. We still had basic needs. One of his had been suppressed for far too long. That's what he was trying to say. If I poked the beast, he was all but promising that there was no turning back.

Despite my body's protest, I appreciated the honesty. We weren't ready for that. Not yet. Hell, I hadn't even known that _that_ necessity existed for me up until a few minutes ago. But I'd never wanted in the same degrees that I did when I was with Daryl. The silent protector. The man with all the hard edges that served to hide the softness underneath.

He was beautiful. Perfectly imperfect. I didn't want to fuck that up. I didn't want to fuck us up. And I had a feeling that when _it_ happened, there would be no turning back. Hell, I wasn't so certain we weren't already there. Having sex would ensure that.

I pressed my lips to his once more, letting them linger there for far longer than what was considered normal. "Goodnight, Daryl Dixon," I whispered, snuggling back into his chest.

* * *

This had not been a good idea, leaving the comfort of Daryl's sleeping arms to scan the outside of the house. The sun had brought out a bunch of fresh, decaying faces. Not quite a herd, but more than I should be handling on my own. Daryl would shit.

I grabbed the knife at my waist, pulling it from the makeshift holster I'd made out of some stray rope that I'd found, sinking it into the head of the walker before me. I didn't mind killing them, but it was particularly early and I'd yet to eat. I tended to appreciate some protein on my stomach before a fight.

"Sage, move," I heard from beside me, a heavy shoulder connecting with mine, moving me out of the way. "Now," Daryl demanded, putting himself in their crosshairs. He skipped forward, plunging his own knife into each of their heads, pulling out, then repeating with ease.

It took me a few minutes to settle back into my groove, but I managed, the both of us working together like a well-oiled machine. When the dust had settled, and walkers lay dead around us, I couldn't help but smile. It was the first time I'd fought with him.

"Stop smilin'," he said scowling. I froze beneath his lethal gaze. Obviously, he hadn't enjoyed our dance o' death. "What were ya thinkin'?"

"I was thinking that I heard a bunch of them at the door that needed to be cleared out. I thought I was helping," I pointed out, matching his scowl with one of my own.

He gripped my arm tightly, pulling me towards the large porch on the backside of the house. We entered the screened-in area hastily, the door slamming closed behind us. I winced beneath the sound. If there were walkers nearby, they'd be arriving soon. "Daryl, stop. I'm okay," I said, pulling my arm from his grasp, messaging the area that he'd manhandled.

"I'm not. I woke up. Ya weren't there," he said growling, approaching me like a madman stalking prey. With each step he took towards me, I took a precautionary step back. He looked wild, capable of anything. My back came flush with the side of the house making any further retreat impossible. He descended on me like a vulture, pressing his body against mine, pinning me onto the wooden planks. His hands were in my hair, forcing my head into one direction then the other, assessing, making sure that I was okay. "I told ya not ta get outta my sight. Didn't I?" he asked, his voice still a growl.

I nodded, wide-eyed and unsure. "Yeah, I just thought I would help," I defended.

His lips crashed onto mine, unmoving as they rested there, almost like he was making sure that I was really still here, alive and in his arms. He released me with the same ferocity he'd used to capture me, stalking into the house without a backwards glance. "Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Dixon," I muttered, taking time to right the senses that he'd just turned upside down.

Guess I was in no need of the morning coffee I'd intended on searching for after clearing the walkers. Who needed caffeine when you had walkers and Daryl Dixon?


	10. Chapter 10

An hour later, with our bellies full, we stood trying to decide what to do next. The group was split. Daryl and I wanted to raid, Carol was indifferent – probably still pissed that Daryl had slept downstairs with me – and Maggie and Glenn wanted to go in search of Rick and the others. Someone had mentioned a baby. I hoped to God that it wasn't true. I couldn't imagine trying to survive with baby-in-tow.

"I vote we stay 'nother night? Ain't nothin' we can do that'll put us any closer to the rest of 'em 'tween today and tomorrow," Daryl suggested, shoving his thumb into his mouth to tear off a phantom piece of skin before continuing. "Rest up. That's what I think." Daryl threw a pragmatic glance in Glenn's direction, earning a shrug from his friend.

Even in an apocalypse the male species felt compelled to lead. No fucking way they'd look to us women for any ideas. I had plenty of them, and none of them consisted of this little democracy we had going on here. Plus, I was still more than a little bent about the fact that Daryl hadn't so much as spoken to me since the porch episode.

Okay so, admittedly, I was a lot peeved about it. And it had me acting a little out of character, my emotions not near as in check as I tended to like them. Which was precisely why my vote consisted of me getting out of the house.

"I don't know, Daryl." Glenn seemed reluctant, Maggie probably playing a big part in his feelings towards the situation.

I knew she wanted to rejoin the group – wanted it bad – but there was a benefit to making sure that we were all good and rested, well fed. Plus we needed supplies for the road. There was no telling how long we'd be out there without any viable options. It was always good to prepare.

"Maybe Daryl's right. We can scavenge the neighborhood. Try and find enough valuable items that haven't already been picked over." With my voice seeming to echo amidst the silence, all eyes turned towards me. I didn't like it. Never had appreciated a whole lot of attention. It had me thinking that maybe I should've kept my snarling thoughts to myself. "I mean, I'll go of course."

"She's right. Regardless of our decision to stay or go, we're low on supplies. Five mouths is a lot to feed. I say we let her go," Carol suggested, taking a few steps in Daryl's general direction. I wasn't even certain that she was aware of doing it, gravitating towards him like she did. But she did it often…Along with insulting me.

Meltdowns weren't typically my thing, but I could feel one coming on. With my previous frustrations mixing in with the new, I was beginning to see red. I was tired of her incessant attempts to belittle me and place a wedge in between Daryl and me. Yes, I'd volunteered, but she'd agreed because it sent me out into the wild blue yonder and increased my chances of getting bit. _Fuck_ , jealousy was something that I hadn't had to worry about _before_. Not my own or anyone else's.

"Carol, she's not going alone," Glenn said, throwing frustrated eyes in Carol's direction.

"Who said she was goin' at all?" Daryl all but growled. His eyes had narrowed into tiny slits, the hard lines on his face practically begging for a fight.

"She volunteered," Carol pointed out, shrugging innocently.

"She ain't goin' and that's final." His mud-caked boot slammed hard against one of the bottom cabinets as he said the words, drawing my eyes there.

Despite being annoyed with Carol's motives, I knew I had to get out of the house, breathe some fresh air, give my brain something else to focus on. Between Daryl's anger regarding my choice to go out on my own and Carol's jealousy…it was downright stifling. "Someone's got to," I found my lips saying. If I thought Daryl's mood was sour before, it was absolutely lethal now. "I'm a better shot than most, and my hand-to-hand isn't so bad either." _Damn good, actually._ I was smart enough to keep that part to myself.

"She goes, then I do," he ground out, looking at each of our companions, almost begging them to protest.

"They're two of our best shots. We can't afford for both of them to be gone," Carol said, shooting a pleading look back-and-forth between Maggie and Glenn.

My eyes narrowed, shooting deathlike glares at the back of Carol's head. While it may have seemed like an unplanned compliment to the others, I wasn't fooled. It was a strategic play to separate us by any means necessary.

"Then I'll go," Maggie said, falling right into her trap. "We made a good team back at the prison."

She was right. We had. But it still didn't make up for what Carol was trying to do. At this point, I didn't care who went with me. I was just tired of talking about it, of arguing.

"Maggie, you don't need to. You just lost your dad. And Beth…" Glenn trailed off, not finding it in him to say the words. Daryl looked towards the ground, guilt written all over his harsh features.

This shit was getting old. It was time to step up. Anything out there was better than the stuffy bitterness happening in here. I gave a resigned sigh, ignoring the attention that it garnered from Daryl. Turning instead, I grabbed my bow from where it was propped in the corner. My quiver was still on my back from the morning, along with my knapsack.

"Where're ya headed?" Daryl asked.

It sounded much more akin to a warning than a question. My anger flared beneath the surface. If he thought the whole kissing thing gave him some power over me, he was wrong. There were things that needed to be done and I was the right person for the job. Whoever went with me was their decision. I'd handle shit either way.

"While you all pull straws to see who gets the short end of the stick, I'll be outside. If you don't decide in ten minutes, I'm heading out on my own."

I intentionally let the door slam behind me, my anger more out of control than I'd intended to allow it. Maggie and Glenn couldn't make a decision to save their life. Maggie'd just lost her dad though, so I'd give her a pass. And Carol? She just pissed me off period. Then there was Daryl – the man it always came back to. What was it with him? Didn't he trust that I could handle my own? Was he afraid I'd get myself in a bind that I couldn't get out of? I wasn't certain what the dilemma was in his mind about me doing what I'd done up until being conked in the head by his brother, but I couldn't stop living because my vagina did funny things whenever he was near. In fact, that was the exact reason that I needed to keep putting myself out there. So my mind didn't get clouded with the lust.

And God was there a lot of it. As proof, the damned treacherous thing between my legs did some sort of muscle tightening tumble the moment it saw Daryl exiting the house, a cigarette drooping from his lips. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, hunching over to flick it between cupped hands. I'd never, not in a million years, pinned myself as someone who'd think smoking was sexy.

But it was. Fuck, it was a whole lot.

Obviously a glutton for punishment, I watched on as he took a long draw off of it, pinching it attractively between his thumb and his pointer finger. When he pulled it from his lips and released the smoke, he gave an appreciative grunt, something I'm not even certain that he realized he'd done.

I gulped back ample amounts of the lust that I'd been abhorring earlier, wishing like hell I could just convince myself to look away. He shifted a narrowed gaze towards me. Even from this distance, he looked like he had a hell of a lot to say, and none of it would be positive for me. That exact gaze pinned on me as he took heavy steps in my direction seemed to be the thing that did the trick, snapping my mind free of my shameless thoughts. My eyes darted somewhere behind him, noticing a few stray walkers off in the distance.

"Somethin' wrong with ya?" he all but spat when he reached my side, gripping my arm and pushing me behind him. He shoved the cigarette back into his mouth, raising his crossbow and nailing a walker that I hadn't seen approaching right between the eyes.

 _Fuck._ How could I have let myself become so engrossed? By a man smoking a freaking cigarette?

"Not flappin' that smart little mouth of yers now are ya?" He walked over to where the walker lie dead and pulled his bolt from the bleeding head, wiping it off on his jeans, glancing back over at me afterwards. "I swear, I don't know whether I wanna kiss ya again or strangle ya. First this mornin' and now this. Volunteerin' and shit. Ya got a death wish?"

"I can handle myself just fine, Daryl," I said, spouting the only words that came to mind.

He shoved his crossbow into the dirt, using his foot to hold it down as he put the bolt back into place and pulled back to reload.

"That what you was doin'?" he said, drawing the weapon up by his head until it was pointed towards the heavens. He took another draw off of his cigarette. "Handlin' yerself while that walker was gainin' on ya?"

"I was…"

"Ya was what?" he snarled, stepping forward, placing his face right in front of mine. "Lookin' at me with some pissed off eyes like ya had somethin' ta say about it. I ain't got time for this shit. Me haventa act like I don't care 'bout your pretty little ass in front of 'em, then ya gettin' yer feelings hurt 'cause ya don't get yer way. Stormin' out here like yer wantin' ta say 'fuck tha world and everyone in it'."

I was fairly certain it was the most I'd ever heard him say. I was also fairly certain that somewhere, amidst his very heated rant, he'd called my ass both pretty and little and admitted that he cared for me. I wanted to cave beneath the sweetness of it, but I couldn't. Because he was angry with me, not trying to be sweet, and it was over _nothing._ That angered me – a lot. "So what if I am saying 'fuck the world'?"

"So what?" he said. "So what?!" he repeated, tossing the unfinished cigarette angrily at his feet, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Yeah, so what?" I challenged, stepping towards him.

"I'm in this fuckin' world, that's what," he snapped, shoving a finger into his chest. "You don't get ta fuck tha world and go out on yer own when ya got me." Now his finger was in my chest, pushing down hard, sinking into the skin, driving his point home.

"Oh," I managed, feeling his words heat over my skin, wiggling underneath, settling somewhere down deep.

"That all ya got ta say's 'oh'?"

Good God, he was damned hard to follow. Was he angry with me or trying to explain that he had feelings for me? I was so fucking confused…and pissed off and turned on. Jesus, what was this man doing to me?

The walker that had happened upon us, stilled my response on my lips. Without thought, I readied my bow, pushed Daryl out of the way and sunk a bolt into his head, precisely as he had for me only moments before. He released a strangled sound that fell somewhere in between a grunt and another growl.

After I retrieved my bolt, I caught a glimpse of his face. Still hard and angry, he looked about as pissed off as I felt. He snatched the cigarette from the ground that he'd tossed only moments before. Bringing it to his lips, he worked to fill his lungs with the smoke, puffing heavily numerous times in a display of anger.

"A thank you will do," I said haughtily, stomping off in the opposite direction. I had very little desire to stand and watch him smoke me into another silly lustful state. He was blurring my vision, my attraction towards him and everything else that came with that attraction, throwing me off-center.

I'd taken ten solid strides towards the street, the idea to place as much distance between the two of as possible the only thing on my mind. But something had me pausing, turning back towards him. Words stilled over my tongue, words I should've been keeping to myself, but couldn't force myself to. They'd bubbled to the surface with no chance of being subdued. "And I wasn't staring at you with pissed off eyes. I was staring at you, trying to figure out what it is about you that makes you so damned appealing to me."

His face softened, a hint of something different than anger flashing across it. "Ya figure it out?" he asked, taking another pull off of his cigarette...Almost like he knew what it was doing to me.

"No, not yet. I just…Christ! Would you just put the fucking cigarette out?" I asked, my teeth shifting over themselves, grinding down over my frustration.

He glanced down at the cigarette that he held, eyeing it with trepidation before looking back to me. "I ain't done with it," he said simply. "What's yer hang-up with me havin' a smoke?"

I growled, running a frustrated hand over my tight French braid. "Ugh, God. Nothing," I all but shouted. "Just that watching you do it makes me feel funny. And I shouldn't be feeling _anything._ Not with walkers roaming around. Not when I should be focused on what needs to be done. And it pisses me off."

"I ain't sure I'm followin'," he admitted, again staring down at the cigarette in his hand.

"Follow this: my head and my vagina aren't on the same page when you're near. Even when you're doing something as simple as smoking a damned cigarette," I ground out, wishing immediately that I hadn't. "I gotta get out of here," I mumbled, turning and doing what I should've two outbursts prior.

Carol was right about one thing. This relationship was liable to get us both killed.

* * *

"How'd you pull it off? Get them to agree to the both of us coming out here?" I asked as he neared, doing my best not to get caught ogling, hating myself immediately for even doing it.

And that was the precise problem with this thing we had going on, wasn't it? As angry as I'd been moments before, I couldn't find it in me to stay that way. Not when I couldn't stop myself from noticing miniscule things that turned my insides to mush.

Was this what it felt like to feel for someone? All out of control and shit. Was this what all of the girls back in high school were yapping about all the time? Wearing their stupid skimpy mini-skirts and flaunting their breasts like it was a damned meat market. _Fuck._ No wonder I'd avoided it like the plague.

"Told 'em it wasn't a choice. It's you and me. Best be gettin' used to it." He shrugged, hooking his thumb beneath the strap of the crossbow that ran down his chest. He'd rid himself of the cigarette before meeting back up with me. I should've been good - should've recovered from my schoolgirl fascination over the mundane - but my eyes seemed intent on noticing the pectorals that framed the strap of his crossbow.

"You and me?" I asked, liking the idea of it a little too much. The three words signified a blending of two individuals from a 'me' to an 'us'. I both appreciated them and feared them.

"Yep," he said softly, nodding as he scanned the area. The action had me doing the same. "You and me," he repeated, the words drawing my attention back to him. He reached out abruptly, his thumb tracing over the swell of my cheek, catching me off guard. My nostrils filled with the smell of nicotine and him. Both smells swirled together, creating an intoxicating mix that pulled at my stomach and all things below.

Just as quickly as the touch had happened, it ended. His hand went back to his side, my eyes drawing there, watching his fingertips rub together. Almost like he was attempting to rub all traces of our intimacy from their surface. My gut wrenched. Did he regret it? Touching me? Even after sleeping next to me the night prior?

"You good?" he asked, pulling me from my thoughts. He'd stepped closer to me, almost hovering, as he asked the question.

I knew immediately he was referencing my outburst from before. I had next to no desire to return to that discussion, nor did I want to delve into the issues that my overactive imagination was creating. "I'm fine. Let's go," I said, more than ready to tackle our responsibilities.

It took us all morning to clear the houses on the block, most of them having been raided by someone before us. We made the decision to begin on the adjoining street, hoping that we'd find more rations for the group there. With five of us, one can of anything would do very little to curb the hunger. We needed a good haul before leaving this place. The next meal wasn't always promised.

We found a house at the end of a cul-de-sac, the windows boarded up like someone had made a strong case for survival. After scouting the outside of the house, listening for noises – anything to indicate life on the inside or signs of multiple walkers – we headed inside.

The home was magnificent, the biggest on the block. I stood in the foyer, motionless and in awe, as Daryl closed the door behind us, locking it just in case. He put his finger to his lips, suggesting silence until we checked all the rooms.

"I'll go this way," I motioned towards the dining room off to the left. Pointing in the opposing direction, I added, "You take that route. We'll meet in the middle."

"You'll follow me."

"I said-" I began, ready to set him straight, stopping short when I saw the look in his eyes. They were downright lethal. He disapproved of my plan to separate. "Okay, so we'll stick together," I mumbled, caving even though I didn't think it was necessary. There was no sense in arguing now. Judging by the darkness that deepened his blue eyes, I had a feeling it wouldn't do me any good.

He jerked his head in the direction over his shoulder. I followed closely behind, trying desperately to ignore the part of me who was decidedly pouting over the fact that I'd been told what to do. I might've been in the process of losing my heart, but my independence was still very much intact. Or at least I hoped it was. I understood the need to stick together against a bunch of walkers, but in this house, there wasn't much I couldn't handle.

We entered the kitchen, both of us quickly searching through the numerous cabinets. There wasn't much that hadn't been picked over. I found a can of cranberry sauce. I frowned, waiving it towards Daryl. I hadn't liked it _before_ so I didn't blame whomever for passing it up. He shrugged indifferently. I put it in my bag anyway.

Rounding the corner, glancing back towards Daryl who was neck deep in another cabinet, I eyed the closed door in front of me. Someone had spray painted the word 'Danger' across it, the large red letters staring back at me. Surely if there were walkers down there, they'd have already heard the ruckus and be chomping at the bit to ascend the stairs. Pressing my ear to the door, I held my breath, waiting. Nothing. Not a sound.

"It's bad enough I haveta worry 'bout ya gettin' killed. Now I gotta worry 'bout ya doin' somethin' stupid too."

My anger flared immediately. That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. All of these foreign emotions and unfamiliar situations were clogging my brain. Not to mention the fact that I was a little more than unsure of how to deal with the smothering feeling that his protectiveness was creating. I wasn't ungrateful. It was just…I needed the freedom to sort through the overwhelming feelings that being near him brought on. I needed to hunt because it forced me to take back control of the heart that I felt slipping away. I needed to kill so I could massage the ego that had turned so fragile.

When I spun around on my heel, armed and ready to set things straight, I came face-to-face with those damned, magnificent blue eyes - the ones that made my womanhood throb with need at just the sight of them. I all but lost my nerve. But I had to say it. I'd spontaneously combust if I didn't lay down some ground rules.

"I need you to understand that I'm not some delicate girl who needs a chaperone. I'm strong. I can handle my own…Much better than most. And I'm not stupid, so you don't have to worry about me doing stupid things," I said, licking my lips, trying to cool my jets. "Listen. It's not that I don't appreciate you looking after me – I do - but when it comes to being out here, handling what needs to be handled, I need for you to have faith... _in me._ Trust that I can hold my own."

"I know ya ain't stupid, Sage. It ain't 'bout that," he responded, closing his eyes down over a sigh.

The urge to touch him, to comfort him, was immediate. I balled my hands into tight fists to fight off the impulse. "What's it about then? Tell me. Help me understand."

His breathing was labored. His face, as usual, gave very little away. He just looked… _angry_. Angry that I'd put myself in danger that morning. Angry that I'd volunteered when he felt I shouldn't have. Angry that I'd appeared even the least bit curious about what lie on the other side of a door with a warning spray-painted over the front.

He reopened his eyes, staring intently at me before answering. "I don't wantcha so far that I can't protect ya is all," he said, shrugging his shoulders. His voice sounded more ragged than usual, backed with more emotion. "I'm sorry if that makes ya angry. We lost someone after tha attack on tha prison. _I_ lost someone," he corrected, accepting blame. His face showed signs of heavy guilt. Again I had to refrain from comforting him. My short nails clawed deeper into my sweaty palms. "I don't want it ta happen again. If it does, I don't want it ta be you."

My chest tightened, hating the situation but craving his words. The dueling emotions that sat on complete opposite ends of the spectrum, the extreme highs and the lows of it all, was staggering. I felt dizzy and on the verge of a complete meltdown. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't process the things that he was saying and the effect his words had on me. I didn't know how to deal with him, with me _…with us._ I turned from him quickly, heading in the opposite direction.

"Where ya goin'?" he called after me.

"To breathe," I responded, falling into a sprint, taking the stairs ahead of me two at a time. I stumbled into a nearby room, thankful that there weren't any obstacles between myself and the window across the way. Shaky fingers unlocked the clasps, pushing the heavy glass upwards before wiggling my body through the medium-sized opening. I inhaled the fresh air like I'd been trapped without it for ages.

Thirty minutes later he found me on the rooftop, flat on my back, staring up at the sky, feeling guilty over yet another uncharacteristic outburst. He maneuvered his body effortlessly through the window, coming to sit next to me afterwards. He relieved himself of both his crossbow and his bag, digging into the latter to produce a pack of cigarettes. He wedged one in between his lips, the lighter inches away from the tip of it when he peered down at me and spoke. "This okay?" he asked, the cigarette bobbing up and down with the words.

I nodded, trying to focus on anything but his lips and the reminder of the embarrassing things that I'd dumbly admitted during the height of my anger.

He lit the cigarette, lowering himself down onto his back next to me. We stayed that way for some time, both of us embracing the quiet. Eventually, and because I knew it was well overdue, I broke the silence with an apology.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap on you like that, Daryl. I'm not used to people looking after me. Not since my dad anyway…" I trailed off, wishing my mouth hadn't said the words. It forced me to see his face, to remember things that I didn't want to.

I felt the warmth of his hand encircle my own, the contact warming more than just the skin that touched. Apparently, touching me before hadn't been repulsive because he was doing it again. Not only was he doing it, but his rough, calloused fingers were gliding gently over my skin. I shivered.

"This okay?" he asked, his velvety voice sounding distant, unsure.

"Yes, of course." I rearranged our fingers so that they laced together, wishing my brain didn't register how perfectly they fit. "This is better…I think." My words sounded just as unsure as his.

"I'm sorry if I'm smotherin' ya. I've not had anyone to look after before," he said softly, his thumb doing another generous sweep over my hand. My heartrate kicked up as more heat zipped through my veins. "Not really. Merle was always capable of getting' himself inta and outta things."

"I am too, Daryl. I did it before the prison. Nothing about that has changed. I can still do the same things now that kept me alive then."

He sighed heavily, waiting a few moments before he continued. "I know ya can."

"Do you?" I asked, my voice more accusing than I'd intended. I didn't miss the way that his fingers tensed beneath my accusation.

"Yes," he responded, his voice tight but sincere.

"What do you do with the others? Don't you trust them to take care of themselves? Rick and Maggie and Glenn?" I asked, ticking through the short list of names of the people that I knew in the group. And then, at the last moment, I added hesitantly. " _Carol?"_

"Yes, of course. They're just… _different_." With the flick of his fingers, he sent the cigarette sailing over the edge of the roof.

"All of them? They're all...different?" I closed my eyes down harshly after I said the words. I hated that my pride needed to know.

The subtle sound of flesh and fabric scraping over shingles had me reopening my eyes. He had shifted himself onto his side, facing me, our fingers coming undone with the action. I could feel his eyes on me, see the intense way that he was studying me out of my peripheral. "That somethin' yer worried about? 'bout Carol? After I kissed ya and told ya what I did on tha couch?"

"Yes. No," I spat out in quick succession. "Fuck, maybe," I corrected, blowing a frustrated breath of hot air upwards, cooling some of the sweaty strands that stuck to my forehead. "Look, I don't know what I'm saying…or why I got so angry with you earlier. You just…make me feel things…more intensely," I tried to explain.

"What kinda things?" he asked gruffly.

"I don't exactly know," I admitted. _God, what_ did _I mean?_ I paused, trying to piece together my thoughts and insecurity, to gather some courage. Mimicking his actions from before, I shifted onto my side to face him. "Like before, my anger was heightened. Logic told me that I shouldn't have been so angry because you were just looking out for me, but I was. You have to understand that most of that is just me being angry with me. You can't help that these feelings are fucking with my head."

"I'm sorry if me bein' near is fuckin' with yer head. It ain't my intention."

I shook my head. "It's not-It's just…It's _more_. It's deeper than that," I fought to explain.

"Tell me then."

"It's my attraction towards you. It's distracting and confusing _._ I'm drawn to you…like I've never been drawn to anyone, to _anything,"_ I corrected. "It's like there's this invisible, unstoppable force that won't be denied…and I can't…I can't stop it." I looked away, feeling vulnerable in a way that I couldn't recall ever feeling.

His finger slid beneath my chin, forcing my face back up to his. "Ya wantin' ta stop it?" he asked, his voice doing an angry shake over the words.

"I don't know. In a way, yes…because…Shit, I'm no good at this, Daryl." I inhaled deeply, ashamed to admit what I knew I was about to. "I've never done this before. Felt this way. Whatever _this_ is," I said, motioning between the two of us. "It's almost blinding. I feel like I'm spiraling out of control. And this need to touch you, to have you close…The way I feel when your hands are on me…" I trailed off, the moment becoming too big for my newly delicate heart. "Fuck. I don't even know what I'm saying."

I looked over to him, trying to gauge his thoughts. His silence left me feeling even more nervous than before. I hated the vulnerability that this relationship had put me in. It made me feel raw and exposed. I'd walk away if I felt I could. But I was in way too deep. Sex with him wouldn't be the point of no retreat like I'd originally thought. I was already there…Just by knowing him.

"All I know is if I don't fight and kill and do all of the things that I did before you, I'll drown beneath this situation, beneath these feelings and emotions." I swallowed hard, not believing the things spewing from my lips, unable to stop myself from saying more. "Drown in my _lust_ for you. This longing that consumes me and my mind…" _And my body._ I hated the way it all sounded - desperate and needy and so unlike me. "God, listen to me. I sound like a fucking girl. I don't think I can do this," I admitted, chancing a glance in his direction.

"Don't," he said again, his voice low, clipped.

"Don't what?" I asked, exasperated, exhausted by the weight of my own emotions.

I sat upright with every intention of placing more distance between us. His hand shot out to my wrist, thick fingers encircling it, forcing me to give him my attention. I craned my neck around to look at him over my shoulder.

"Don't stop feelin' those things fer me. Don't get upset because I'm overprotective of ya. I don't mean ta be. I'm no good at this either. I don't know how ta not be afraid of losin' ya. I don't know why I can't stop from feelin' this way about ya either."

For not being good at this, he sure knew exactly what to say to make my heart race.

"Sage, I don't' want ya ta stop," he said softly, loosening his grip over my wrist.

"I won't," I whispered, twisting my torso so that I could look at him fully. "I won't because I can't. Not even if I wanted to."

He nodded, not looking at all comforted by my words. I didn't know what else I could offer him though. Truth be told, I didn't want to feel like I did. I wanted to be the old me – fearless and free, confident and focused on survival. But he'd added another layer to this crazy existence of mine, one that couldn't be removed. I couldn't stop this train. Not even if it slowed. Because the urge to explore this with him – whatever it was - trumped the urge to remain the same person I had been before him.

"I thought I wouldn't see yer face," he finally spoke, pulling me from my thoughts. "Wouldn't be able to touch yer skin again…when we got separated. I kept thinin' about ya, bein' in my arms and all. About ya touchin' me and runnin' towards me in tha cell. I didn't think…Ahh, shit. I'm just glad I found ya," he said, shaking his head over the words, shrugging afterwards. "I know this scares ya…because it scares me too. But I ain't got no way to stop it. I don't want ta."

"At least it sounds like we're on the same page," I said softly. "We care but are afraid to. We want without necessarily knowing what it is that we want."

"I ain't so sure," he huffed out, biting harshly down over the nail of his middle finger.

"What do you mean?"

"That what we're wantin's tha same," he responded. I was confused. My face must've showed it. He leaned forward, reaching towards me to pull me back down beside him. Just as quickly as I'd settled comfortably onto my back, he was on top of me, his body flush with mine. His arousal was thick and hard as it settled between my thighs. "I got some thoughts 'bout ya that won't go away. Thoughts that I ain't so sure ya want me havin'."

"Daryl, I-" I began, so caught off guard and flustered I could hardly think straight.

"Ya what?" he asked hotly, peering down at me, sounding angry. "Don't want me thinkin' those things 'bout ya?"

"No, it's not that. I…" Didn't he know how I felt considering the night before?

His face was hardened, angry and undecipherable. I didn't exactly know what he was trying to say or what had spurned this type of reaction from him. His words had begged me not to give up, but his actions told a different story – almost like he wanted to scare me away. But they weren't scaring me away. My body was telling me so. I was just too caught off guard and inexperienced to know how to react in the moment.

"I've been wantin' ta touch ya in a way that ain't proper for a while now. I wanna see what I almost did in that cell when ya was washin' yerself. I'm not a gentleman, and it's got me downright scared knowin' it. I'm afraid I can't control myself when I'm with ya. I'm afraid of doin' somethin' wrong that'll turn ya from me. I ain't never wanted somethin' in that way that I knew I would want again after." He looked somewhere beyond us, his gaze intentionally not connecting with mine.

"Daryl, I-I don't know what to say."

With my words, his eyes shot back down to mine, a sour look playing havoc on his face. "Then don't say nothin'. I was thinkin' maybe I already said too much anyhow," he mumbled, rolling off of me suddenly. He fumbled through his bag again, finding the pack of cigarettes from inside, completely missing my body's disappointed reaction over the loss of contact – the frown that crept over my face, the flex that my fingers did in an effort to stop themselves from not reaching out to him. He jerked the cigarette up to his mouth, lighting it before taking a hard drag off of it. In a huff of frustration, he blew the residual smoke into the air, the small cloud puffing out, folding over itself before disappearing. He smoked half of the cigarette before speaking again. "Just know I don't mean nothin' by tryin' to protect ya. Nothin' other'n the fact I care about ya and don't want nothin' to happen that'd take ya away from me."

"I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be careful. I promise," I said, finally reaching out to him, touching his arm because I both wanted and needed the contact. Because he looked so distant, so unsure…so angry over something that I couldn't pinpoint. "Because I want you touching my skin...Doing all of those improper things," I found myself saying.

His eyes narrowed, the blue orbs emitting even more anger than before. "I gotta feelin' you ain't so sure what yer askin' of me…What I'm wantin' to give ya. What I'm meanin' ta _do_ ta ya," he corrected, taking another hit off of his cigarette. "And I ain't certain I'm the right man fer the job. I already said I ain't no gentleman and-"

"And I'm aiming to prove you wrong," I interjected. "I'm _going_ to prove you wrong," I amended.

"How so?"

"You _are_ a gentleman. I already know it. But maybe…afterwards…you'll believe it too."

He tensed beneath my words. I knew immediately that he didn't agree with me, but I didn't know how else to go about saying it. I figured now was about as good a time as any to return to my scavenging duties. Gathering my things, I ignored my heart's attempt to pick apart every gesture, every breath that he took.

"Where ya headed?" he asked, his voice hoarse, thick with something that sounded an awful lot like emotion. I wasn't sure if it was a result of all the cigarettes he'd smoked or the heaviness of the conversation. Maybe it was a little of both.

"To finish the sweep of the house. We need to be headed back soon. We don't have much daylight left."

He nodded, stamping out his cigarette over the shingles. "I'll be behind ya shortly."

I made it to the opening of the window before turning back to him. The things he'd said were playing heavily on my mind, on my conscience. It'd lead me to believe that he had a low opinion of himself. I got the feeling that he hadn't been lifted up by very many people in his life. And he deserved it – to be lifted up. He deserved to know the truth. That he was so much more than what he had or hadn't been told. He deserved to hear what others had neglected to say.

"Daryl Dixon, you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met. You're good and honest and strong. I'd take a lifetime around someone like you over a single minute with someone else. Yes, I'm scared of this… _of us…_ and that makes me want to turn and run the other way. But those fears are on me, not you. You have to know that you wanting me in that way isn't what scares me. It's not off-putting. It's the exact opposite."

"If it ain't me, what's scarin' ya then? I seen it on yer face, Sage. When I was on ya. Ya looked like ya thought I'd hurt ya."

God, he had it so wrong. So, so wrong. "All I wanted before you, was to be alone. Now, I can't think of a single thing that terrifies me more than walking through this shitty world without you. The fact that I've met someone who means that much to me… _That's_ what scares me."

He looked away from me, the sun glinting down over the back of his head. Maybe I shouldn't have been so blatantly honest. I didn't stick around long enough to find out, thinking that maybe now the tables had turned and I'd been the one saying too much.


End file.
